Sipahigiri
by Debbie Kluge
Summary: Story #8 in the Jealousy series. Things heat up in Bangalore as problems at home complicate life for the Quest family. **COMPLETE!!!!!!!**
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR**

  
  


And here we are again, back for the continuing adventures of Jonny, Jessie, Hadji and their friends and family. But for the first time, things are really different. Life has moved on for everyone since that fateful day in mid-May when Jonny and Jessie left the Quest Compound in Maine and moved to Boston to begin building their own lives together. This tale picks up about five months after the close of Growing Pains I: Choices and we will find out how everyone is coping with all the changes in their lives.

I will say up front that this story will not be short, but it will serve to wrap up a number of story threads that have been building almost since I first wrote Jealousy. And by the time I'm done, I hope I will have managed to answer a lot of the questions I've gotten about what is going on.

As always, I owe an unending debt of gratitude to Suze Howe who has patiently beta read and offered constructive criticism on more versions of this thing than I care to count. Thanks must be offered to Donna Tucker, as well. Donna served as a sounding board and offered a fresh eye on continuity, plot, and characterizations at a time when both Suze and I had been looking at this thing for way too long. Her enthusiasm and notes asking, "Where's the next part?!?" also acted as a spur to keep me at it when I stalled. Ladies, there aren't enough words for me to thank you properly. Just know how much I really appreciate it.

And, as always, love and gratitude go out to my husband, Chuck. He's the sunshine of my life and for that I will be eternally grateful.

I don't think I have anything else left to say, so I'll just offer you the latest installment in the on-going Jealousy Saga. Like I've said before, I hope you enjoy the ride . . .

  
  


**Sipahigiri**

by

Debbie Kluge

  


Sipahi \si-'fahee\ n. [Hindi] : In the 18th Century Ottoman Empire, horsemen who served as chief defenders and warriors of the Sultan's army.

Sipahigiri \ si-fahee-'zhee-ree\ n. [Hindi, _Siphai_ calvary + _giri_ hill] 1: defenders of the hill 2: protectors or defenders, as in a war.

  


**

Chapter One

**

  


"Look, I understand all of that," Jonny Quest said, with as much patience as he could manage. "We've been over all of this before. It doesn't change things."

"At least talk to him."

"No!" Jonny said sharply in irritation. He shifted uncomfortably in the stiff, straight-backed chair and moved the phone to his other ear. "Damn it, Hadji, all trying to talk with him does is get both of us angry, and the next thing you know, we're yelling at each other again."

"Then you must hold your temper," his brother advised him. "Father is only trying to get you to do what he feels is in your best interests. You must remember that much of his anger and frustration stem from the knowledge that his actions triggered this problem."

"His actions are **_still_** the problem," Jonny replied bitterly.

Hadji Singh sighed softly. He had been trying for months to help mend the rift that had torn Benton and Jonny Quest apart last March. Their father's discovery of the extent of his youngest son's involvement with his best friend's daughter had come at a particularly bad time. The attack on his family and the partial destruction of their home by Richard Baxter and his associates, coupled with the release of his emotional ties to his dead wife, had left Benton Quest emotionally spent. Subsequent months of reconstruction on the house in Maine and the constant demands of prior commitments had afforded him little opportunity to rest and recover and he was ill-prepared to deal with another major change in his life. 

"You can try to take the moral high ground," Hadji suggested. "You said that he admitted that the way he acted back in March was wrong. Forgive him for that and go on from there."

"Moral high ground?" Jonny replied incredulously. "You honestly think he's gonna give me that? You know how he's been about Jessie and I. He's giving us enough grief about living together already. I make any mention of taking the moral high ground and it's going to get ten times worse." Then Jonny sighed. "Furthermore, I forgave him for that months ago." A sound at the front door caused him to look up just in time to see Jessie come staggering in. She had been balancing a stack of books, a loaded book bag, and her purse while struggling with the dual lock. Just as she got the door open, everything slipped and cascaded to the floor with a resounding crash. The noise had no more died away than a violent series of bangs and the deep, thundering bark of a large dog caused the floor to vibrate. Jessie gazed heavenward beseechingly as Jonny chuckled and said to her, "You set Magnus off again."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah . . ." she muttered as she turned and shoved the book bag clear of the door so she could shut it. Then she stomped three times on the floor and yelled, "Shut up, Magnus!" The barking immediately stilled.

"What was _that_?" Hadji demanded.

"Jess just got home."

"What did she do, break down the door to get in?" Hadji asked dryly.

"No," he replied, grinning at her. "Just dropped everything as she came in."

"Tell her we say hello."

"Hadji and Kefira say hi," Jonny said to his girlfriend, then continued on the earlier subject. "It really isn't the business about M.I.T. any longer, you know. I mean, what's the point of beating a dead horse? It's that he just won't let up. He harps about our living arrangements every time he calls. And if it isn't that, then he's back on the topic of my not being in school. Over and over and over. I get so sick of it! You know what his latest campaign is?"

"No, what?"

"He's taken to having universities from all over the world send me application materials, catalogs, and brochures." He picked one up from the stack of mail on the white, claw-footed coffee table in front of him and stared at it in disgust. "I got one today from the University of Western Australia."

Hadji chuckled. "Well, that is a new approach, I will admit."

"It's not funny."

"It is, actually," Jessie said, walking past with an armload of books. "Hi, Hadji!"

The laughter in Hadji's voice died away as he said seriously, "Jonny, I know it is difficult, but if you do not at least _try_ this will never be resolved. It has been almost seven months since you found out what he had done . . . five months since you and father met the first time to try to find a solution. At that time, you both promised Dr. Mason that you would continue to try to work out your differences. You _must_ keep trying to talk with him about it."

Jonny sighed. "I know," he admitted reluctantly. "And I have been trying, Hadji. I even went so far as to make an outline before I called home the last time. I was determined to keep my temper and to steer clear of subjects that were likely to lead us into an argument."

"And?" Hadji prompted.

"It didn't work. We still argued."

"About what?"

"We argued about the fact that I wouldn't argue with him." Hadji sighed. For a long time, neither one of them spoke. Finally, Jonny said tentatively, "Have you been home recently?"

"Kefira and I were there last weekend."

"How is he?"

"He is still distressed . . ."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Is he still refusing to listen to Dr. Mason?"

"Yes," Hadji agreed glumly. "He says that he has gotten some rest and is feeling fine so he sees no reason to go to some specialist he does not know and let himself be poked and prodded. He is certain that if there really was anything wrong that Dr. Mason would have found it already."

"Not if he won't let her do the tests!" Jonny said in frustration. "The last time I talked to her she was trying desperately to get him to agree to a stress test and a cardiac screen, but he just refuses!"

"She thinks he may have heart problems?" Hadji said, sounding seriously alarmed.

"She doesn't know, but she's convinced that something's wrong. She's tried and tried and tried, but he just won't listen!"

"Have you talked with Race?"

"Not recently, but Jess has and she says that he isn't having any better luck than the rest of us."

"I know that Kefira and I are supposed to come to Boston for the weekend, but I am thinking that it might be better if all four of us went home to Maine. You and Jessie have not been back since you left in May, so your return would emphasize how seriously you take this. Perhaps if we all face him in a united front and insist that he do something, he will listen. Do you know if he is still suffering from the spells of weakness?"

Jonny shifted in the chair again, trying to find a more comfortable position. "According to Race, he isn't, but I don't know that I believe that. I think he may have had them and is just being really careful to hide them from everyone."

"But why?" Hadji demanded, bewildered. "It is unlike him not to confront a problem and deal with it. Why is he taking such risks with his health?"

"I don't know. I'd be in favor of going home and trying to get him to do something about it, too, but it would be a wasted trip. He's not there."

"Where is he?"

"Race told Jessie the other day that the two of them were taking off for Britain today. Something about being a guest lecturer at Oxford."

"How long is he going to be away?"

"Don't know. Hang on . . . " Raising his voice, he called, "Hey, Jess!"

"What?" a distant, disembodied voice called back.

"How long were Race and Dad supposed to be in Britain?"

"Don't know. Dad didn't say."

"Jess doesn't know, either," he told his brother.

"He should not be traveling," Hadji replied fretfully.

"We both know that, but try telling Dad . . ." A sudden beeping in his ear interrupted him. "Hang on, Hadji. I've got another call coming in." He pressed a quick sequence of keys and then said, "Hello?"

"Hey . . . Jon . . . it's Blake . . ."

**_"NO!"_** Jonny replied in a loud voice.

"Look, bro', I'm really sorry, but . . ."

"I just got _**home**_!"

"I know . . . I know. I'm _really_ sorry," the voice replied desperately. "You know I wouldn't call if it weren't important, but the 5700's crashed. We've tried everything and nothing is working!"

"Well, try it again!"

"We did . . . twice. We just can't . . ."

"Then call Michael. The 5700 is his responsibility, not mine."

"We _**tried**_. He's not home, he left his pager in his desk, and he's not answering his cell phone."

"Oh, that's just _great_!" Jonny said in disgust. "All right, give me the bad news. What's it doing?"

"It ran about two-thirds of trial and then gave an abort/failure code and just stopped. So we tried a reset from the abort code. It didn't just reset the program . . . it reset the entire system! We had to sit there and wait for it to do a full system restart. And when we tried running it again, the same thing happened."

"Did you try an override on the abort code rather than a reset?"

"Yes. That just locked all the terminals up and we ended up having to reboot and go through a full system restart then, too."

"The damned thing was running fine when I left. I _checked_ it."

"Yeah, I know. We just can't . . ."

"All right, all right." He glanced at the clock . . . 7:25 . . . "Give me about half an hour and I'll be there."

"Thanks, man . . . " the other said gratefully.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there . . ." Jonny punched in another quick transfer sequence. "Hadji, you still there?"

"Here," his brother replied.

"Look, I gotta hang up . . . there's an emergency at work and I've got to go in for a while. You and Kefira gonna be able to make it down this weekend?"

"As far as I know."

"Make it a point, okay? We've lived here almost five months and you still haven't managed to visit yet."

"That is not entirely my fault," Hadji pointed out. "We have had plans to come twice before but you ended up having to work both times."

"I know, and that's why I'm going to endure Jess' wrath tonight and go back in to work . . . to make sure that the problem is fixed so I **won't** have to work this weekend!"

Hadji laughed. "All right, Jonny. We will be there day after tomorrow. Shall we drive or take the train?"

"Drive. That gives us a car to run around in while you're here. I'll warn Mrs. Taylor that we're gonna be using the garage space this weekend."

"You really need to think about getting a car."

"Another expense we don't need right now," Jonny replied. "We do okay using mass transit. Look, I better go. I'll see you Friday evening. You have the directions for how to get here?"

"Yes. We will see you at about 5:30."

"Cool. Say 'hey' to Kefira for me and we'll see you both later." Hanging up the phone, he stood and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation he just knew was in store. Walking quickly to the kitchen, he stepped over the threshold and stopped. Jessie stood at the stove, stirring something in a skillet. The aroma caused his mouth to water. Hesitantly, he said, "Jess . . ."

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him quickly. "All done? How's Hadji?"

"He's fine. He and Kefira will be here about 5:30 on Friday . . ."

"Cool. This is almost done. You want to get plates?"

"Uh, Jess . . . look, I'm sorry, but Blake just called . . . "

Her smile disappeared abruptly. _**"NO!!!"**_

"I know it's . . ."

"You haven't been home any night this week! Jonny, you _promised_!"

"I know I did," he said desperately. "But they can't get it running again . . ."

"We were going to spend an evening together tonight. I even canceled a study session to be with you. You said you'd see to it that everything was running smoothly so they wouldn't bother us."

"I did! And everything was fine when I left, but . . ."

"Just tell them no!"

"I _can't_," he replied, his voice rising in spite of his efforts to stay calm. "It's the damned** payroll** program. If I don't get it running again, no one's going to get paid on Friday."

"Payroll isn't even your responsibility! You're in web development!"

"I can't help it that I'm the only one who seems to understand their computer systems!" he yelled, finally losing his temper. "What do you want me to do . . . threaten to quit if they don't let me stay home nights?"

"I want you to spend at least one evening with me every so often!" she retorted in anger. "Is that so much to ask? All you ever do is work, work, work. You haven't been home one full evening in the last month. You either don't get home until nine or ten, or you do get home, only to have them call you and you disappear again until midnight or later!"

"You think I like it?!?" he demanded fiercely.

"Yes!" she replied, taking the skillet and throwing it into the sink, food and all. Tears of anger and frustration glittered on her eyelashes as she spun and glared at him. "Yes, I think you love it! Everyone needing you and relying on you like this. I think it's an ego rush and you get off on it!" She shoved past him and disappeared into the other room. A moment later Jonny heard the bedroom door slam forcefully. The sound of a large dog barking followed almost immediately.

Still angry, Jonny strode into the living room. He stopped in the middle of the room and stomped three times on the floor. "Shut up, Magnus!" he yelled. Then, he finished crossing the room, jerked open the closet door, grabbed his jacket, and left the apartment, slamming both closet door and front door violently on his way out. In the distance, he could hear Magnus begin barking once more.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Thirty minutes later Jonny ran his company I.D. card through the swipe reader on the employee access door and entered the Garrett J. Blackman Corporate Plaza downtown. He was still steaming from his argument with Jessie and crossed the huge marble reception area with a belligerent stride. A middle-aged man with swarthy skin and wary, dark eyes looked up as he approached the main reception desk. He relaxed slightly when he saw who it was.

"Evening, Jon. I thought you'd called it a night."

Jonny snorted. "Me? Go home before midnight and actually stay there? You know me better than that, Marco. What would I do with myself if I couldn't spend every waking hour in this place?"

Marco Giardello, the night security man, laughed as he shoved the sign-in sheet toward Jonny. "Glutton for punishment, that's what you are. Tell you what, I'll even release the elevator lockdown so you don't have to climb the stairs."

A few minutes later, Jonny exited the elevator on the 27th floor into a large, high-ceilinged room. Normally brightly lit and bustling with activity, at 8:15 in the evening the lights had cycled to subdued dimness, and the only perceptible sounds were a low hum of machinery and the muted murmur of soft voices. Swerving into a work cubicle not far from the elevator, he tossed his jacket across the chair and then headed toward the sound of voices at the far end of the room. 

Approaching the source of the voices, Jonny noted that the usual gang was out in force. Jonny grinned to himself. The Network Lords - that's what everyone called them. The Mage, The High Priestess, The Wizard, The Knight, and The Boy King. It had started out as a joke within the department, but a couple of near miraculous saves for departments outside their own had caused the name to spread. Now, whenever a problem developed, the word would spread -- the Network Lords were being called out. Within the last month, they'd even started getting calls from other Divisions, including some from overseas. The name had become more or less official just last week when the five of them had received an e-mail note from Garrett Blackman, the president of the company himself, via a Network Lords distribution list someone had added to the e-mail system.

And the best part of it all was that not only were they great co-workers, but they were rapidly becoming good friends, too. He slowed slightly, watching them as the four of them fought with the current problem.

Rapidly entering commands into the keyboard was Ted Larson, Network Engineer for the Corporate Division. Known as The Mage, Ted was a rather nondescript young man of medium height in his late-20s. His mousy brown hair, gray eyes and thick glasses disguised a lightning quick mind and a genius for configuring hardware in new and incredibly productive ways. 

The Knight was Kyle Desmond. At the moment, Kyle lounged beside Ted with his feet up on the desk, twirling a rubber band between his fingers. He was a tall, gangly young man in his mid-20s with faded green eyes and long, white-blonde hair tied back into a neat ponytail. His technical title was Optics Software Systems Analyst, but what it really came down to was that he was capable of making optical media of almost any form accomplish things most people hadn't even dreamed of.

Lin-Su Chen, The High Priestess. was currently seated across from Ted and Kyle, frowning over some computer printouts. She was a slightly plump, dark-haired Asian girl, with a now-absent dimpled smile. Smart and funny, she enjoyed being the only female in this select little group. As Database Applications Supervisor, she was responsible for the maintenance of all the corporate-wide database programs, as well as writing much of the new database application software for the company. Of the five of them, she was the only one who had her own staff - three people who supported her here in Boston, as well as at least one person in each of the other twelve Divisions throughout the world. Jonny had been shocked to learn, about two weeks after he started work at the company, that she was only 25 years old. But Lin-Su had just laughed at his astonishment and said that Mr. Blackman liked to hire his staff young, before they burned out or learned a bunch of bad habits. That revelation had made all the difference for him . . . and he had suddenly felt at home in his new job.. 

Lounging against the cubicle wall next to Lin-Su was the last member of their group - The Wizard. His name was Blake Fearday, a 24-year-old Senior Mainframe Software Programmer. He was a good-looking African-American of medium height with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and an infectious grin. His friendly demeanor and easy familiarity were just two of the reasons that he was Jonny's closest friend at work - despite frequent late-night distress calls like the one that had brought him in tonight. Blake was an outstanding programmer with a quick mind, and as a result, was constantly contacted by recruiters from other companies who desperately wanted to lure him away from Blackman Telecommunications. But as far as Jonny could tell, Blake was perfectly happy right where he was. 

And that left Jonny himself . . . The Boy King. To this day, he still wasn't quite sure how he had come by that nickname . . . he assumed it was because he was the newest addition, but he'd decided shortly after it had been bestowed on him that he wasn't going to think about it too closely. Jonny had originally been hired as a web designer assigned to develop the global company's worldwide website. But a month after he started, his immediate supervisor had quit and Jonny's job had quickly been upgraded to that of a Web Development Analyst. He grimaced to himself. What that meant was that not only did he keep all the responsibilities of his old job, but they added in-house intranet to it, as well. Stan Knight, the head of the entire I.S. Department, had assured him that they would be hiring additional help eventually, but that at least for a while, they would ask him to work on his own while they decided what they wanted to do about allocation of work. _Well, it's job security, I guess,_ Jonny thought ruefully as he neared the cubicle. Hearing his footsteps, the four young people looked up from their tasks expectantly, relief easily apparent in each and every face.

Blake was the first to approach. "Jon! Man, are we glad you're here!" He reached out and caught Jonny's hand in a complicated handshake that Jonny returned deftly.

"Well, don't expect me to say the same, Blake. Okay, you outlaws, what have you done to it now?" A chorus of protests greeted that comment as they made way and allowed him to settle in front of the terminal.

"We didn't touch it," Ted replied.

"I was at home when Marco called," Blake commented, leaning over Jonny's shoulder to watch what he was doing. "Said he was getting an alarm on the 5700 and he couldn't reach Michael. I called around and no one knew where he was, so we all ended up down here to check on it. What you see is what we found when we got here."

"Damn it, Blake, I _checked_ this system right before I left at 6:00 and it was running perfectly!"

Blake spread his hands with a shrug. "What can I say?"

"Was there a power outage of any kind?"

"Not that we know of," Kyle answered.

Jonny sighed. "All right, let's see if we can find the problem . . . " The other four snared chairs and gathered around, prepared to watch Jonny work his magic. They had seen him do it numerous times over the last five months, but they still never tired of watching him.

Time faded away as Jonny worked, running code and testing subroutines while the others watched, offered suggestions, and shook their heads in bewilderment at his speed. Throughout the entire process, Jonny kept up a steady running commentary on what he was doing and answered any question the others posed. Finally, almost six hours later, Jonny sat back wearily and shook his head. "That was seriously weird. I have no clue where that series of small file corruptions came from. Hopefully, that will fix it. Now we recompile the program and try it again." A few quick commands and a final keystroke and they all sat back and stretched.

"How long do you figure it will take?" Blake asked.

Jonny glanced at the screen again and then at his watch. "The whole program's going to have to recompile, so probably at least thirty to forty minutes."

Kyle yawned mightily as he stood up. "I need some caffeine. I'm off to the vending machines. Anyone else want anything?" A chorus of voices replied and the young man disappeared into the dimness.

Jonny propped his feet up on the corner of the desk and leaned against the wall with a sigh. "I am beat," he said.

"You got a right," Blake replied. "When was the last time you had an undisturbed evening at home?"

"I have no idea. You'd need to ask my girlfriend. She's the one who keeps track."

"You got a girlfriend?" Ted said incredulously. "With the hours you work? How do you keep her?"

"Got me," Jonny said, his eyes closed. Then he opened them slightly and glared at Blake. "Of course, I may _**not**_ have her after tonight. She was seriously pissed at me when I left. I'd promised her a quiet evening together . . . just the two of us."

Blake contemplated the blonde young man speculatively. "You know, Jon, you've worked here for five months now, and we don't know much of anything about you. I've never met anyone as friendly and yet closed mouthed about themselves as you are. I mean, I think this is the first time any of us even knew you _had_ a girlfriend!"

Jonny laughed sleepily. "I do have a life outside this building, believe it or not."

"So who are you, Jon Quest?" Lin-Su inquired pointedly. "Now that you've broken my heart by telling me you aren't available, the least you can do is tell us about yourself."

Jonny rolled his head to one side and looked at her. "I'm just a guy trying to make a living, Lin-Su. Nothing too exciting about it."

The girl shook her head. "Uh uh. I don't buy it. You're a whole lot more than that." The others nodded in agreement. Kyle returned and handed Jonny a Coke, then dropped down onto the floor nearby.

"Thanks, Kyle," Jonny said and popped the top. Looking back at Lin-Su, he asked, "What makes you say that?"

Lin-Su just shook her head and glanced at the others. "Avoidance. He sure is good at it." Looking back at Jonny, she said, "So will you answer some direct questions?"

"Maybe," he replied cautiously.

"How long have you been programming?" she asked promptly.

Jonny contemplated the question. "Since I was about seven or eight, I guess," he finally replied. "At least, that's the earliest I can remember." He smiled slightly. "My brother and I used to write games to play on the computers at home."

"Yeow! No wonder you're so good at it!" Blake exclaimed. "It's like you _think_ in code."

"Sometimes I do," Jonny acknowledged. At their startled looks, he shrugged. "Why is that so surprising? Programming languages are no different than French or Spanish or Japanese. To become really fluent you have to learn to think in the language when you use it."

"Okay . . . " Ted said doubtfully. Then he brightened. "Speaking of languages, how many do you speak? I know you speak more than one 'cause I heard you on the phone to one of the foreign offices the other day, and whatever language you were speaking, it sure wasn't English."

Jonny grinned lazily. "I don't even remember who I was talking to. Let's see . . . languages. I'm fluent in Spanish, Hindu, Arabic, and Japanese and I can hold my own in Mandarin Chinese, French, Polish, Russian, Greek and German. I can read all of those, as well as Latin, and I know enough to make an idiot of myself in several others including Farsi, Portuguese and a couple of Native American dialects."

"Geezus!" Blake exclaimed. "How did you manage that?"

"I'm good at languages . . . pick 'em up pretty readily. Both of my parents spoke several languages and they started to teach them to me from the day I was born. That's where my French, German, and Russian come from. I also have an adopted brother who was born in India, which is where I learned Hindu. He also spoke fluent Arabic so I picked that up, too. And my girlfriend's mother is Colombian so Jess speaks Spanish as readily as she speaks English. Portuguese, too . . . her Portuguese is a lot better than mine. The others I've just picked up along the way because I like learning languages." Jonny shrugged. "No biggie. I just had the opportunity, that's all."

Blake shook his head in amazement. "I don't believe this guy."

"So with all of the languages you know, you get the chance to use 'em much? Do a lot of traveling?" Kyle asked.

"Not as much as I used to. My parents used to travel a lot and they would take me with them. It's been a while, though."

They were all quiet for a bit and then Lin-Su asked idly, "So who taught you to program?"

"My dad."

"He's a computer programmer?"

"Among other things."

"Who's your dad?" Kyle asked. "Anyone we might know?"

Blake was looking directly at Jonny and saw the way he tensed up. Recognizing that they had just hit a question that Jonny didn't really want to answer, he interrupted smoothly, "How's the compiling coming?"

Grateful for the interruption, Jonny sat up and peered at the screen. "More than halfway done." He looked at the group surrounding him. "You guys don't have to stay. Why don't you head home? I can wait this out and get it running again. After all, we really should have at least a few of us awake for the weekly staff meeting."

Lin-Su looked resigned and then wagged a finger at him. "We're going to get it out of you, one way or the other, you know." Jonny grinned at her without saying a word. After looking at him for a long time, she sighed. "Okay, if that's the way you want it. Come on, Ted, you can give me a lift home. I'm not in the mood to ride the T at this hour."

"Sure thing. How about you, Kyle? Blake?"

"I'll take a lift," Kyle agreed, standing. "You sure you don't want us to stick around?" he asked Jonny.

"Naw. You go ahead. This shouldn't be much longer anyway."

"Blake?"

Blake shook his head. "I got my car. Thanks for the offer, though." With that, the others waved and left.

"Why don't you go on?" Jonny repeated. "I can finish up."

Blake shook his head. "No, I'll hang until everything's done and then give you a lift home."

"Thanks, but it really isn't necessary. I can . . ."

"No, you can't," Blake said flatly. "Two in the morning is _not_ the best time in the world to be takin' the T. I'm surprised you haven't been mugged already. I don't mind giving you a lift."

"I'm over in Somerville," Jonny warned.

"Not a problem." Jonny finally gave up, and the two of them lounged in companionable silence for a while.

"So what's her name?" Blake finally asked.

"Who?"

"Your girlfriend. Did I hear you say 'Jess'?"

"Oh. Yeah. Jessica."

"Nice. You known her long?"

"Since I was about eight."

"Long time. What you guys have must be pretty special to have lasted that long."

"Yeah, it is," Jonny agreed, drowsing again.

"She was really pissed tonight, huh?"

Jonny rolled his head and looked at his companion. "Yeah, she was, and she had a right. I don't even remember the last time we had the chance to have a meal together, let alone a decent conversation. She's generally ready to go to bed by the time I get home, and she has a 7:00 a.m. class this term so we're lucky to even get a passing good morning as we head out the door. We'd both shuffled schedules and commitments around to get this evening together and then I had to walk out on her. I don't blame her for being angry."

"You live together, then." Jonny nodded. "Where's she going to school?"

"M.I.T. She's trying to choose between environmental engineering and computer science."

"Tough curriculum. She a programmer, too?"

"Yeah. A good one."

"Your dad teach her, too?" Jonny nodded again. Blake regarded Jonny thoughtfully for a long time. Finally, he said softly, "I know who your dad is, you know."

Jonny's head snapped up and he stared at his companion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I know who your dad is, Jon. You'd left an HR form on your desk one day. Your name was at the top . . . Jonathan B. Quest . . . former address Rockport, Maine. I've visited that area once or twice . . . they like to play up their celebrities for the tourists. Benton Quest . . . world famous scientist and Renaissance man . . . home address . . . Rockport, Maine. It wasn't hard to put it together."

Jonny sighed. "No, I suppose not." There was a perceptible pause. "Who have you told?"

"No one," Blake replied. "I figured if you wanted people to know, you'd tell them. Since you hadn't, I didn't think it was any of my business."

"Thanks," Jonny said gratefully.

"Answer a question for me?"

"Sure. I owe you one."

"Why does it make a difference?"

Jonny thought about that for a while. "I guess because all of my life I've pretty much lived in my dad's shadow. When Jess and I came here, for the first time in my life no one knew who I was. I wasn't having to live up to being Benton Quest's son all the time." He shot a quick glance at his companion. "Don't get me wrong. I love my dad. But do you have any idea what it's like to have grown up with that? Everyone always expected great things from both of us."

"Both of you? You mean you and Jessica?"

"Well, her too, but I really meant my brother and I. Hadji never had a problem with it, I don't think, but then he and Jess are a whole lot more like my father than I am. They like the same stuff . . . all the cutting edge research and that sort of thing. That's just not me. I was always the 'dumb' one of the crowd."

Blake snorted. "Bro', if you were the dumb one, I don't even want to think about what that would make me."

Jonny stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. "You know, it's funny. I don't know that I even realized that it bugged me until I didn't have to deal with it any more. Getting away from home and coming to work here . . . it was like suddenly being set free." He shook his head ruefully. "When we argued tonight, Jess accused me of getting a rush out of this job . . . of being so in demand and needed. It ticked me off at the time, but you know, she's right. It feels good to be the one that has something really valuable to contribute, for a change. I guess that's why I haven't said anything about who my dad is. For once, I'm actually making my own mark and I kinda want to keep it that way."

"I can see that. Don't worry. I won't say anything to anyone."

"Thanks."

"So how do you and your famous father get along?"

Jonny snorted. "Let's just say that we've seen better days."

Blake laughed. "I think parent/child wars go with the territory. I didn't always get along with my folks, either."

"We did really well up until about seven months ago. Then it all went to hell."

"What happened?"

"Jess."

"He didn't like your girlfriend?"

"No, he liked Jess well enough. He didn't like our . . . let's see, how did he put it? Oh, yeah, I remember. He didn't like our 'extracurricular activities' and he decided to do something about it. I objected to the tactics he used and things got really nasty."

"And you ended up here."

"Pretty much."

"Can I ask you another one?"

"Yeah, I guess. As long as you don't get offended if I refuse to answer, you're welcome to ask whatever you like. Just don't repeat anything I tell you, okay?"

"Fair deal," Blake agreed. "So, how old are you?"

"Why do you want to know?" Jonny hedged.

"Because I've got a bet going with myself. Everyone around here figures that you're about 23 or 24 . . . on the young side of their age, basically. Me, I think you're younger than that." Seeing Jonny's expression, Blake added hastily, "It doesn't matter to me, you know. It's more curiosity than anything else."

Jonny contemplated him for a minute and then said, "I'm 18."

"Shit, and you're this good now? Geez, I hope you'll let me hang with you for a long time, my man, because the amount I can learn from you is downright scary."

Jonny laughed and smacked him on the back as he sat up. "I hope you're around for a long time, too, bro'. You're a good time, and you make a homesick kid from downeast Maine feel a whole lot better about being in the big city." Blake chuckled and gave him a thumbs up. "Looks like this sucker is finished. Let's see if it will run so that we can go home and I can find out if I'm going to be sleeping in the guest room tonight . . ."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


The clock on the mantel was just chiming 3:00 a.m. as Jonny closed the apartment door. He sighed wearily and leaned against it, letting the quiet soak into his bones. After almost five months, he had finally become accustomed to thinking of this place as home. He knew part of the trouble of adjusting was due to the atmosphere of the place. With a few exceptions, none of the furniture belonged to him and Jess . . . the place had come furnished . . . and the stuff wasn't exactly what the two of them would have chosen on their own. But having a place to call their own pretty much made up for that. And they did enjoy their neighbors . . . particularly elderly Mrs. Taylor downstairs, and her giant Irish wolfhound, Magnus.

_It's been a lot harder than I expected, though,_ Jonny mused. When he first took the job with Blackman Telecommunications, the salary had seemed like a huge amount of money. He hadn't anticipated that they'd have a problem, particularly since Jess was going to work until she started in at school. And she'd found a job easily enough, and at good money, too. But neither of them had anticipated the host of expenses they now had to face, especially living in the city. 

Rents were outrageous and even with the deal they had on their place, it took a major chunk out of the monthly budget. Then there was electricity, water, trash pickup, phone, cable, internet access, cellular service, food, transportation . . . the list seemed endless. Not to mention the purchases that they had to make when they first moved in. They had to completely stock up on essentials like dishes, cookware, cleaning supplies, trashcans, towels, bed linens, and the day-to-day expenses just kept mounting.

Then there were the big purchases. When they moved out of the Compound, both of them had been angry with his father. Jessie less so than he, Jonny admitted, but still . . . And in their bullheaded determination to prove that they could manage on their own, they had refused to take with them a lot of the things Race and Estella kept insisting were theirs to keep. Jonny shook his head and shoved himself away from the door. They had been seriously shortsighted and naïve on that score. They should have accepted Race's offer with grace. They definitely would have been a lot better off today if they had. Within the first month, they had dropped over fifteen thousand dollars on computer equipment alone - two desktop systems, a couple of laptops, a file server, a color laser printer, and a host of other peripherals and software - all on credit, of course. Now it was another bill they had to pay every month, and an extremely high one, at that. And ever since Jessie had returned to school full-time, money was extremely tight, as they had to rely on his salary alone.

_Live and learn, I guess,_ Jonny thought, as he crossed the living room silently. When he reached the rear of the apartment, he found the bedroom door standing open invitingly. Well, at least he wouldn't have to sleep in the guest room - or worse, on their uncomfortable, stiff-backed couch.

He undressed in the dark, listening to Jessie's soft, even breathing. Just having her to come home to made it all worthwhile, even if all they ever managed to do together these days was sleep to in the same bed for a few hours at a time. He slid in next to her carefully, trying not to wake her, and lay there staring into the darkness. After a minute, she stirred and rolled over, cuddling against him intimately. Her intense warmth against his side was reassuring and he nestled in, drawing her close.

"I'm sorry, Jonny." Her voice was soft and repentant. "I shouldn't have gotten angry. I know it wasn't your fault."

"Shhhh. You had the right to be mad, love. I'm the one who should apologize. I did promise you. I'm sorry." 

"Let's just forget it, okay?"

"Forgotten," he agreed and kissed her.

"So did you get it fixed?"

"Yeah," he replied, sounding very tired. "Blake helped, and so did Ted, Kyle and Lin-Su."

"I sure hope they appreciate you at that place," she said into his ear. "They don't know how lucky they really are."

He kissed her again gently. "I'm the lucky one," he murmured softly against her lips. He could feel her smile. Her arms tightened around him briefly, drawing him close, as she murmured,

"Go to sleep, angel. Tomorrow is another day . . ."


	2. Chapter 2

**

Chapter Two

**

  


Hadji hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He really wished that Jonny and their father could find a way to resolve their differences. This constant friction was not easy on any of them.

"How are Jonny and Jessie?"

Hadji looked up and smiled at the lovely, raven-haired woman sitting at his desk. "Still doing well as far as I can tell. Jonny got a phone call while we were talking and had to cut the call short so he could go into work."

"Again? It seems that happens every time you call."

"Yes, it does," Hadji agreed with a laugh. "Jessie was complaining about it the last time I talked with her. She claims all he ever does is work."

Kefira smiled, but Hadji could see worry reflected in her eyes. "Does he like what he is doing, beloved?"

"He seems to," Hadji replied. He sat forward, looking at her closely. "You are concerned. Why? Do you know something I do not?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. It is just that things were done in such haste that I have wondered . . . " She trailed off uncertainly.

"What?" Hadji encouraged her.

"It is just that until March, the assumption was that Jonny would be going to school, just like the rest of us. Then the conflict with his father happened and in less than two months everything that he had come to expect all of his life was turned upside down." A brief smile flickered. "That can be rather disconcerting."

"I know it can," Hadji agreed dryly, thinking how much both of their lives had changed in an very short time, as well.

"We both know how extremely stubborn Jonny and Jessie tend to be. If this is turning out to be harder than they expected . . . and I suspect that it is . . . I do not think they would be very willing to admit that this move to Boston was a mistake."

"That thought had occurred to me," Hadji admitted. "It has also occurred to Father and to Race and Estella, too. All three of them have asked me at one time or another whether I thought the two of them were happy."

"Are they?"

Hadji shrugged helplessly. "I do not know . . . not with any certainty. I could ask you the same question. You talk with Jessie as much or more than I do. What does she say about their situation?"

Kefira turned in her seat to face him and Hadji could see the uncertainty in her expression. "She is definitely enjoying her classes. She is excited. They are challenging and she is learning a great deal. But I do know this . . . she did not like the job she had during the summer."

"What was wrong with it," he asked with a frown. "She did not say anything about it to me."

"She said it was boring and she hated being locked into fixed hours five days a week. She said it felt like she had no freedom." She looked at her fiancé gravely. "That is why I am so concerned about Jonny. Not only is he locked into set hours, he is also working many more than he ever has before. Jessie says he often works ten and twelve hours a day, seven days a week."

Hadji frowned. "I had not realized it was quite that bad."

Kefira nodded emphatically. "And from what Jessie says, much of it is not work assigned to him. He is extremely knowledgeable and good at solving problems, so whenever they cannot find the proper person, or those people cannot fix it, they call on Jonny. I think Jessie is worried about him."

Hadji shook his head, troubled. "He has said nothing about this to me, and he talks about his job a great deal. Oh, he has mentioned that he works a lot of hours, but he has never been specific on what that means. And the hours have never seemed to worry him. If anything, he laughs about it."

"Does he _seem_ happy?"

"Yes . . . yes, he does," Hadji said slowly. "He is excited when he talks about working and there is a tone to his voice . . . " He trailed off, thinking about it. Finally, he shook his head. "I do not think I can explain it. It is just that I _feel_ that he is content."

"We are still going there this weekend?"

Hadji nodded emphatically. "Yes. If I was in doubt before, I am not now. I want to _see_ him . . . talk to both he and Jessie. We will go, even if he calls again to say he has to work. Phone, e-mail and teleconferencing are fine, but I want to talk to him face-to-face. He has never been good at hiding things from me when he has to look me in the eye."

"Good," Kefira said, smiling in relief. "That will make me feel a great deal better. I would hate to think they are regretting their decision and only continuing out of misplaced pride."

Hadji grimaced. "I would not put it past either one of them."

"Neither would I. But I overheard you say something that also concerns me. Was Jonny saying that Dr. Mason thinks that Dr. Quest is having heart problems?"

That question brought Hadji to his feet. He began to pace restlessly as he replied, "Dr. Mason still does not know what is wrong with him, and Father continues to refuse to cooperate with her efforts to find out." Hadji told her what Jonny had said, then turned to her in agitation. "Jonny also says that Father is traveling again. He should not be doing that. Not if he is not well."

Kefira frowned. "How long is he going to be gone?"

"Neither Jonny nor Jessie knew. Father did not tell Jonny himself. Jonny found out about it when Race mentioned it to Jessie."

"I do not like that at all," she exclaimed. "It is not like Dr. Quest not to let us know when he is going to be gone."

Hadji sighed in frustration. "I think he is doing it because he knows that all of us would have objected. We are all worried and he is getting tired of us constantly asking and railing at him about not doing more to find the cause of the problem."

Kefira grinned at him with wry humor. "Well, then Dr. Quest should appreciate the way Jonny feels, considering that he keeps doing the same thing to _him_."

That comment caused Hadji to laugh. "I will have to remember to point that out to Father the next time I talk to him." He looked at the books spread out across his desk. "Are you at a good stopping place? I was thinking we might go out for something to eat."

"Yes. What did you have in mind?"

"Balaji was telling me about this new Thai place down by the bookstore. He says it is very good."

"That sounds wonderful! Let me clean this up and you can drop me back at my dorm room after we eat."

"You are welcome to come back here," he said wistfully, watching her pack her study materials into her bookbag.

The look she shot him was stern. "You know that is not a good idea. It strains the lines of propriety having me over here at all, let alone doing it in the late evening."

"I know," he said with a sigh. "But that does not mean that I have to _like_ it. There are times when I envy Jonny and Jessie."

Kefira paused, looking at him hesitantly. "You mean, you wish we could . . ."

"No!" Hadji interrupted hastily. "That is not what I meant at all. I do not want to sleep with you or . . ." Seeing her face, he stuttered, "N-no . . . no . . . that is not what I meant! I mean . . . that I . . . it is just that I . . ." He could feel the flush creeping over his face and stumbled to a halt, too flustered to continue.

Kefira set her books down and crossed quickly to take his hands and lead him over to the nearby sofa. Drawing him down to sit beside her, she looked at him steadily and said, "Take a deep breath, beloved, and just say what you feel."

Her gentle, reassuring smile and calm voice steadied him. Reaching out he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek in a soft caress. "I love you very much, you do know that?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"And it is not that I do not desire you, because I do."

"But . . . " she prompted him, when he hesitated.

"But I really do not want to make love to you . . . not yet." He looked down at his lap, avoiding her eyes. "I cannot explain it, Kefira, but that kind of intimacy . . . I . . . I guess I have always felt . . . belonged . . . no, _deserved_ . . . the sanctity of marriage." His look came up to her again abruptly. "I do not want you to think that it is because I do not _want_ you or that those desires do not exist for me. They do! I just . . . it is that I . . ."

She reached out and rested her fingers on his lips gently. "Hadji, you do not have to justify yourself to me . . . about this or anything else." She smiled at him. "And to be honest, I am somewhat relieved to know you feel this way, because I _know_ that I am not ready. To be truthful, the very idea . . . scares me."

Hadji tilted his head and looked at her seriously. "Why? You must know that I would do everything in my power to avoid hurting you . . ."

"It is not that!" she exclaimed.

"Then what," he questioned gently. "Is it me?"

"No! Never!"

"The position I hold?"

"No," she said beginning to sound distressed.

"Then what?" he persisted. "You do not need to be afraid." He smiled and said, "Take a deep breath, beloved, and just say what you feel."

But the deliberate parrot of her own words didn't bring the expected smile. Instead she stared steadily at her lap and wouldn't look at him. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she said, "What if I . . . if I am not . . . I cannot . . . "

Catching her face in both hands, he forced her head up gently until their eyes locked. "Cannot what?"

" . . . please you." The words were barely audible and for an instant Hadji wasn't sure he had heard them correctly. But the fear, embarrassment, and uncertainty in her face assured him that he had. Caressing her cheek again gently, he drew her face toward him and kissed her.

"You have no reason to be afraid, Kefira," he said when their lips parted. "I doubt there is _anything_ you could do that would **not** please me."

"I have never been . . . good . . . with boys, Hadji," she said, sounding as though she were admitting to a sin. "I was good with mining equipment and mathematics and geology. But never boys. I was uncomfortable in social situations and didn't date . . . no one even _asked_ me. So to believe that I could possibly be good at something like this . . ."

He smiled at her again, this time with impish laughter dancing in his eyes. "My brother assures me that when the time comes you really do not control what happens anyway . . . Mother Nature takes over . . . so I do not think there is anything to be concerned about." His expression turned serious once more. "I do not want you to worry about this, my love. When the day comes, I have no doubt we will both do fine. Until that time, we will not rush things. And as for my reasons for envying my brother . . . at least he never has to fear someone will tell him he cannot marry Jessie simply because she stayed too late at his home studying!"

Kefira's lips twitched and then she started to laugh. "It is rather silly," she admitted. "Although the practice _does_ ensure that the royal bloodline stays pure."

Hadji snorted. "As Jonny pointed out to me when I told him about this, that is what DNA tests are for." Kefira just laughed as she rose and went back to collecting her books.

Watching her, he thought about the requirements that prevented them from living the same lifestyle that Jonny and Jessie did. What he had told her was true . . . he would never be comfortable with the sort of arrangement those two had. It wasn't that he disapproved of it . . . certainly not the way their father did . . . it was just not for him. He was grateful to know that Kefira felt much the same way. And those thoughts led him to the contemplation of Bangalore and the pressures building there. Admiral Bennett's pointed questions in April had hit closer to home than Hadji had been prepared to admit.

The situation in Bangalore was rapidly deteriorating as several different groups jockeyed for dominance within his Advisory Council. The Regent, his mother Neela Singh, had become openly partisan toward one faction . . . the faction that he did _**not**_ favor, although he made it a point to keep that to himself. As a result, tempers were running short and tolerance for others' opinions were in frustratingly short supply. He strongly sympathized with Jonny's frustration over his attempts to talk with their father, because he was having little better luck communicating with his own mother.

Kefira's arrival in December brought ominous signs that the war with his mother was about to escalate. Kefira's tale of the visit by Neela and Arun Birla, the head of his advisory council, had been the first sign. Calls to his own silent agents in the Royal Palace confirmed his suspicions that the Lady Neela had plans to remove Kefira from her family's home upon her return to Bangalore. His agents warned that suspicions were that the move was being planned with the intention of holding her in the palace permanently, thereby forcing him to return to his native country to stay.

Hadji and Kefira had discussed the situation at length, and finally both had agreed that the best thing to do was to stay in the United States and out of Neela's reach. However, they both also knew that a simple, outright refusal to return would spark even more controversy and destabilize the situation even further. So, Hadji had called his mother and informed her that it was his decision that both he and Kefira would begin school immediately. He gave no indication that he was aware of her plans and pointed out to her that he was honoring his pledge to expedite his education in the quickest possible fashion. His attempt at reasoning with her had not pacified Neela. In repeatedly more agitated and demanding tones, she informed him that remaining in the United States to complete his education was no longer an option. She insisted that he return immediately and take up the throne, but when pressed she refused to discuss why she felt this to be so urgent. Finally, in frustration and anger, he had hung up on her. When IRIS informed him two or three minutes later that she was on the phone for him again, he had flatly refused to speak with her.

Privately, Hadji shook his head. It was unfortunate that the confrontation had come at a time when Kefira had been away from the Quest Compound. In some indescribable fashion, she seemed capable of moderating the conflict between he and his mother, and things rarely got out of hand when she was present. It was only later that he discovered she had programmed IRIS to monitor and report to her on calls from Neela, and that she had called his mother back and tempered the situation . . . at least temporarily. When he had found out about it later, he had been furious, but Hadji had to admit that things had appeared to improve since Kefira had intervened. Since that time, an uneasy truce had existed between he and his mother. How long it would last, Hadji couldn't say, but the intervening months of relative quiet had been a relief . . . particularly in light of the problems between his brother and their father. Thinking of all of them now, in the contented peace he shared with Kefira, it seemed almost humorous. His thoughts must have caused him to smile, because Kefira asked,

"What are you thinking? Something has amused you . . ."

Hadji laughed outright. "I was thinking that Jonny and I are more alike than I care to admit, and that it puts both you and Jessie in the unenviable position of putting up with both of us."

Picking up her book bag, Kefira laughed and held her hand out to him. "I do not believe either one of us consider it a bad arrangement. Come, beloved, let us get some dinner. I am hungry." Still chuckling, Hadji tucked her against his side and the two of them left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

  


Barbara Mason stared at the medical chart in her hand with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. _Oh please,_ she thought to herself, _let this be a mistake. These people don't need anything else right now._ Setting the chart aside, she reached for the blood pressure cuff mounted on the wall, as she said,

"So you're still suffering from morning sickness?"

"Yes," Estella Velasquez-Bannon replied, looking a little green. "I almost anticipated it when I discovered I was pregnant again because I had it so badly when I was carrying Jessie. But at least it went away by the end of the first trimester. This time it's just hanging on and on . . ."

"Hmmm," Barbara said, pumping up the blood pressure cuff, "I don't remember you mentioning that before. Did you have any other problems with Jessie?"

"No, none to speak of. Oh, she was a little early, but the doctors said that didn't surprise them because I was under so much stress at time."

"What kind of stress?" Barbara asked, watching the dial on the sphygmomanometer as she listened carefully. The first trace sound reverberated in her ears . . . systolic . . . 145 . . . she felt her gut clench . . . thump . . . thump . . . thump . . . silence . . . diastolic . . . 90. With clenched teeth, she released the pressure on the cuff and started over.

"Race had been out on assignment almost continuously for that entire year," Estella replied. "He'd no more than get home and they'd send him out again. And I hadn't seen him at all during that last month." She grimaced. "My deepest fear had always been that he'd be killed out in some God-forsaken hellhole and I'd never even get his body back. It was rare that he was gone for that long at a stretch without calling, and I was a nervous wreck. It was one of the few times that I ever resorted to calling Commander Bennett. When he told me he wasn't sure where he was . . . well, it was pretty much the last straw. I went into labor that night and Jessie was born about 36 hours later."

Barbara released the pressure on the cuff and hung it back up on the wall. Turning to pick up the chart, she pulled out a pen and started to write as she gave Estella a serious look. "Thirty-six hours? That's a long labor, even for your first. How old were you then?"

"Twenty-four."

Barbara flipped back to the prior page in the chart and looked at the vitals again. There was no question. Estella's normal blood pressure consistently ran 110/70. But there was no error. Now it was 145/90. And she was still suffering from nausea . . . a good two months beyond when she should have stopped.

"Other than the nausea, how are you feeling?" she asked Estella, gesturing for her to lie down on the table. Estella eased herself down and Barbara began a careful exam as the other woman replied,

"Not very well, actually. The nausea is really starting to get me down."

"What about dizziness, blurred vision, headaches?"

"I _have_ been getting headaches recently, and just in the last week or so I've caught myself getting dizzy if I turn too quickly or sit up too fast." Estella looked at her uneasily. "Are you saying I'm developing a problem?"

Barbara didn't reply for a long time, continuing the prenatal exam. Finally, she straightened and said, "I need a urine sample. Why don't you get dressed and see about getting that done."

"Barbara . . . "

"This first," she commanded, shoving a plastic cup into her hand. "Then we'll talk."

Estella slid down off of the exam table, dressed quickly, and left the room. Barbara watched until she disappeared, and then picked up the chart and went out in search of her nurse. Finding her just coming out of another exam room, she said,

"Kathy, Estella is in the process of trying to produce a urine sample. When she comes out, snag it and do a quick protein dip on it. Then have the remaining sample couriered down to the lab at the hospital ASAP. Tell them I need a broad spectrum urinalysis done, with particular attention to protein levels. Have them call me the minute they have the results.

Kathy looked grave. "The blood pressure _was_ a bad sign, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't good," Barbara agreed grimly. "Shoot her into my office when she finishes. Who do we have here?"

"Mr. Carter. Just a quick follow up visit on the infected cut on his arm."

"How does it look?"

"Looks to be healing well to me."

Barbara nodded. "I'll see him. If Estella finishes first, just have her sit down and wait. Anyone else today?"

Kathy shook her head. "No. Mr. Carter and Estella were the last."

"Good. Tell Estella I'll be right with her. Oh, and see if you can get Matt Evans for me. I want to see if he can do me a favor."

But when Barbara arrived in her office about ten minutes later, there was no sign of her friend. Sticking her head back out the door, she saw Kathy hovering in the hall. Spotting her, Kathy moved to join her.

"She hasn't come out of the bathroom yet?" Barbara asked, concerned.

Kathy shook her head. "No, but I did just talk to her and she says she's all right. I figured I'd give her about five more minutes and then see if she'll let me in. Oh, and Matt's on line one."

Barbara nodded and retreated back into the office again. She had just hung up the phone when a knock on the office door heralded Estella's arrival. Waving her in, Barbara watched as the woman moved across the room and settled carefully into a nearby chair. She wasn't overly ungainly yet, although Barbara noticed she was moving with measured care.

"Do me a favor, would you Barbara?" Estella said with a rueful expression. "The next time you decide you want a urine sample, warn me ahead of time, okay? It's not easy to produce one when you don't have to go!"

Barbara chuckled. "I'll try to remember."

Estella looked at the dark-haired woman steadily and asked, "So tell me the truth . . . what's the problem? Because there _**is**_ a problem, isn't there?"

"Yes, Estella, there is," Barbara agreed with a sigh.

"Tell me."

"The medical literature calls it PIH . . . pregnancy-induced hypertension. It's also known as pre-eclampsia or toxemia."

Estella looked resigned. "We don't need this, you know," she said gloomily. "We've got enough trouble as it is. Between Benton's health problems and his continuing rocky relationship with Jonny, we can't afford anything else."

"I know," Barbara said sympathetically. "But there's no way to have anticipated this. PIH is a strange disorder. The cause has never been identified and there doesn't appear to be a whole lot of rhyme or reason to why it shows up. It's not even consistent in its occurrence. A woman may have several pregnancies and have it show up during only one or two of them. Or she may suffer from it during all of them . . . or never have it show up at all. The only pattern . . . and even that's inconsistent . . . seems to be that it frequently crops up in pregnant women over 35 or in women with a family history of it . . . " Barbara shrugged. "Has anyone in your family ever suffered from it?"

"Not that I'm aware of. And I didn't have it with Jessie. But you said that doesn't mean anything."

"No, it doesn't. Unfortunately, I don't think there's any doubt about it."

"Great," Estella said in disgust. She shook her head. "Well, I'll just have to be careful. I've managed to keep Race from realizing just how sick I've been until now. I can keep it up for a while longer."

Barbara sat forward with a frown. "No, Estella, you can't cover this up. We have to treat it. And there's only one way to do it. As of right now, I'm putting you to bed. 

"Oh, no!" Estella said, sitting up abruptly in the chair. "You _can't_. I have too much to do. There's got to be some other way!"

"I can. I don't care. And there isn't. "

"Barbara, I'm serious. I _**can't!**_ " Estella protested loudly. "I have a research deadline coming due, a whole host of borrowed materials that I haven't finished with that have to be returned, and the Compound to keep an eye on. With Race and Benton out of town . . . "

"Out of town!" Barbara exclaimed. "Now? Where are they?"

"Britain. They left this morning and won't be back for a week . . . maybe 10 days if things fall behind. I simply don't have the time to spend my entire day in bed. Believe me, I can control this. I'll be fine."

Barbara looked at her companion seriously. "Listen to me, Estella. PIH is **not** something to play around with! It's dangerous, to both you and the baby. Your blood pressure is already up to 145/90. The nausea, elevated blood pressure, and dizziness are just the early stages. If you ignore this and attempt to go on as though nothing is wrong, the nausea will get worse, not better. Then comes swelling in the extremities, accelerated heart rate, fever, double vision, abdominal pain . . . even possible blindness. And that's just to you. It can be just as dangerous to the baby. This disorder prevents the placenta from getting enough blood, cutting down the amount of oxygen and food getting to the child."

"But . . ."

Barbara overrode the protest ruthlessly. "I want you to understand something. It's a virtual certainty that you're going to end up delivering this baby early, probably by C-section. All of those symptoms I described . . . you _will_ develop them. It's just a question of how long you can hold them at bay before things get so bad that we don't have a choice any longer. Aside from delivering the child, there is no way to cure this disorder, and the only treatment is total bedrest. You're at about 24 weeks or six months right now. Depending on the look of your protein levels and how quickly the more advanced symptoms begin manifesting, we may be able to hold out until 28 to 30 weeks, but . . .

Estella looked at her in horror, wrapping her arms around her belly protectively. "Twenty-eight _weeks_??? But that's only seven months! You can't take my baby that early . . ."

"Ultimately, it's going to be our only choice," Barbara said firmly. She reached out and grasped Estella's hand where it lay on her stomach. "Estella, I'm not deliberately trying to scare you, but you have to understand the gravity of the situation. If you try to push it too hard or we hold out delivering the baby too long, we run the risk of this escalating into full-blown eclampsia, and that is incredibly dangerous. You risk seizures for both you and the baby and even the rupture of the placenta. And if that happens, we could lose one or both of you." Barbara squeezed her hand hard in response to Estella's dazed and frightened look. "If we start dealing with this right now, there is an excellent chance that the baby will be fine," she said soothingly, "and so will you."

A sharp knock on the office door interrupted them. In response to Barbara's call, Kathy stuck her head in the door. "Matt Evans is here."

"Good." She looked back at Estella. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm done for the day, so I'm going to take you home. I don't want you driving, so Matt Evans is here and will follow us home in your car. When we get to the Compound, we're going to put you directly to bed. From now on, I don't want you on your feet more than 10 to 15 minutes at a time . . . no more than 30-40 minutes upright in a chair, unless it's absolutely necessary. We'll also make some adjustments in your diet that may minimize the onset of swelling and help control the nausea. Right now, the important thing is to get you off your feet and resting."

"Oh God, how am I going to tell Race? He wants this baby so much . . ." Estella moaned as Barbara helped her up.

"You don't worry about that. I'll talk to Race and make certain he understands what needs to be done. I'll stay with you at night until Race and Benton get back and I'll also talk with Mrs. Evans so she knows what you need during the day while I'm at the office. Estella, we can cope with this, I promise you."

Estella stopped at the door to the office and turned to look at the other woman desperately. "My baby _**has**_ to be okay, Barbara. It just has to be . . ."

"Then we'll see to that it is." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Race closed the door of the hotel suite just south of Oxford and glared at Benton Quest's back. He had spent the entire day chasing the man all over Oxford University and nothing Race did would get him to ease up. They had started before 8:00 a.m. with a breakfast meeting in a small nearby café. From there, they had moved onto the campus and a meeting with the publications committee. The prolonged debate had run throughout the morning and into the early afternoon. Finally, the meeting had broken up, and Race had tried valiantly to convince him to return to the rooms to rest. Benton had refused and had immediately set off to locate several friends. Over Race's continually escalating objections, Benton had gone from one end of campus to the other before finally landing at the rooms of Dr. Andrew Macfie, a renowned Scottish historian. Over dinner and drinks, the two of them had begun a discussion of ancient Pict ruins prominent across the British countryside. Unfortunately, Dr. Macfie was both radical in his views and determined to defend them, and the friendly conversation eventually turned into a heated argument. It was rare that Benton became seriously agitated over a scholarly debate, but for some reason this particular argument managed to achieve it. When he finally left Dr. Macfie's rooms, he was still steamed, and had set off on foot at a rapid pace across campus back toward their hotel. No amount of argument would convince him to stop and call for a taxi. By the time they finally entered the rooms, it was close to midnight and Benton looked seriously exhausted.

"You are just _trying_ to give me an ulcer, aren't you?" Race snapped at him irritably.

"Why? What did I do?" Benton demanded in much the same tone, dropping onto the sofa on the far side of the room.

"You _know_ what you did. You just couldn't stop, could you? Not for an instant. You did it deliberately. Damn it, Benton, you aren't up to this and you know it."

"This is nothing I haven't done before!" he snarled. "Don't start with me, Race. I'm not in the mood."

"Fine! Forget I said anything," Race said snappishly. "I'm going to call Estella."

The two of them maintained a cold silence as Race waited for the connection to go through. Finally, after the fourth ring, there was a loud click and a pleasant female voice said,

"QUEST COMPOUND. HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU?"

"IRIS, this is Race. Is Estella there?"

"GOOD EVENING, MR. BANNON. YES, DR. VELASQUEZ-BANNON IS IN THE HOUSE. JUST ONE MOMENT, PLEASE."

Race sat impatiently drumming his fingers on the desk while he waited. Finally, the phone clicked in his ear and he drew a breath to greet his wife. Before he had the chance, however, an unexpected voice said quietly,

"Race? It's Barbara."

He stiffened, her presence and the tone of her voice causing his heart to constrict sharply.

"Barbara!" he exclaimed. "What is it? What's happened? Is Estella okay?"

"Yes, she's all right. But I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong?" he insisted. Across the room, Benton sat forward in alarm. "You aren't there at . . . " he consulted his watch, " . . . 7:30 at night, answering the phone when I specifically asked for my wife, because you just wanted to say hello. What's wrong with her?!"

She sighed. "Please, Race, just take it easy. We do have a problem, but it . . ."

"Benton, something's wrong with Estella!" Race said, cutting across what Barbara was trying to say. "We need to go home!"

"I'll start packing!" he replied, rising swiftly and heading for his bedroom.

"We're coming," Race said tersely into the phone. "We'll be there before morning."

"Race, wait! Listen to me. There's no reason to panic. She's okay for now. She's in bed and resting. You don't need to come rushing back . . . "

"She's my wife. I'll be there as quickly as I can." He hesitated, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he knew he had to ask the question. "The baby? Has something happened to the baby?"

"No! Would you just calm down and listen to me? Yes, Estella has developed some problems, but both she and the baby are all right. I'm not going to go into it over the phone, but I want you to rest easy. I've put her to bed and I'm afraid she's going to have to stay there, but they will both get through this."

Race sat with his elbows on his knees and his head resting in his free hand. "We never should have been doing this," he whispered hoarsely.

"Doing what?"

"Trying for another child. It wasn't necessary. Whatever possessed me to want to put her at risk like this? What am I going to do if something happens to her . . ." Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Benton standing at his shoulder. He took the phone from the younger man.

"Barbara, it's Benton."

"Thank God! Benton, listen. This isn't dire. Don't let him panic. You don't even need to come straight home."

Benton looked down at Race who was sitting with his head in his hands. "Yes, we do," he replied with finality.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


The sound of a whining jet engine woke Barbara from fitful sleep just before 3:00 a.m. Rising, she fumbled in the dark for the robe that Estella had loaned her and pulled it on. She struggled to wrap the silky fabric around herself as she made her way to the front of the house. The door burst open just as she reached the entryway. Race tossed the suitcase he held onto the floor and demanded,

"Where is she? In our room?" He would have bolted straight back to their suite, but Barbara grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"No! Don't burst in on her like that . . . you'll scare her to death. Let me tell you what's going on first."

Drawing the two men into the family room, they sat quietly and listened as she explained her diagnosis, the nature of the disorder, and what they could expect in the coming weeks.

"Seven months?" Race asked shakily, when she had finished. "Barbara, isn't that way too early?"

"No," she assured him. "I've known children who were born at the stage Estella is right now or even earlier that did just fine. They will both end up in the hospital for a while, but that's nothing to worry about." She leaned forward earnestly. "The important thing is for you to be supportive and confident. She's feeling overwhelmed and very frightened right now. Your faith that she can handle this will be a big factor in helping her cope with the coming weeks. Estella has always been active, but this is going to require that she stay in bed, and that isn't going to be easy for her."

"She'll stay there," he said with grim determination. Then he looked at Barbara. "Do I need to move out?"

The woman smiled at him. "No. I think one of the best things you can do for her is to hold her. She can use the comfort. And I'd suggest that you start right now."

He rose with a nod and left the room without another word.

After he had disappeared, she turned back to Benton and looked at him closely. He looked tired, but not unreasonably so. For some reason, that made her feel better. Rising, she crossed and sat down beside him on the sofa. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"I'm fine," he replied, avoiding her eyes.

Reaching out, she caught his chin and forced him to look at her. "Benton Quest, I will _not_ tolerate you hedging with me. You still look tired."

"It's three o'clock in the morning and we just made a transatlantic flight after a full day," he said dryly. "I think I probably deserve to be tired."

"All right, I'll give you that one," she acknowledged. "Why don't you go on to bed. We can continue this discussion at another time."

"Barbara, we've been through this. I'm _fine_."

"I know we have, and you know my opinion of that assessment. You also know that I still don't understand why you won't let me pursue this. If you're fine, all you're out is a little time, and if _I'm_ right, then we find the problem before it gets out of hand."

"Because it's not necessary and I really don't have the time to spare." He sighed and shook his head. "Please, let's not argue about this. Estella and her condition is much more important. How much did you sugar coat the truth for Race?"

Barbara shook her head. "Not at all. It was an honest assessment. With careful monitoring and bed rest, she'll get through this. It's not going to be easy . . . or fun . . . but she's strong and she and the baby will be fine."

Benton nodded wearily and rose. Offering her a hand, he drew her to her feet. "We're in your debt again," he said with a smile. "I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but thank you for your care."

She laughed softly. "I keep telling you . . . I'm not keeping score."

"Something tells me I should be grateful for that," he said with a rueful grin. "And at the risk of sounding like I'm trying to be ingratiating, you look lovely tonight . . . particularly for 3:30 a.m."

She blushed and laughed. "Well, you can give the credit to Estella. The outfit is hers. I didn't bring anything with me. Now, I think you need to go on to bed, and I'm going to do the same."

He nodded once more. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"If not, then after my office hours tomorrow evening. You're going to be seeing quite a bit of me, I suspect. I'm going to keep a very _close_ eye on Estella, trust me."

"I always do."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Race slipped into their bedroom silently. Estella lay on the bed facing the door. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and even. The light that spilled from the slightly opened bathroom door cast golden highlights across her face and he was struck once again by her elegant beauty. She shifted uneasily in her sleep, as the child she carried stirred and kicked. For a long moment, he stood motionless, shaken by the profound love he had for this woman . . . and the deep-seated fear that had settled into his gut like a stone. The thought that he might lose her was unbearable. He crossed to the bed and sat down carefully. With one hand, he rubbed her stomach gently, soothing the restless child. As it quieted, Estella's eyes opened lazily.

"Race?" she questioned, her voice husky with sleep.

"I'm here," he replied, brushing her hair back off of her temple. Her eyes sharpened on him abruptly as awareness caught up with her.

"You're back! Is something wrong? Benton's okay, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's fine. We got back a little while ago."

"What time is it?" She tried to sit up, but a strong hand on her shoulder prevented her from doing so.

"About 3:30. Don't worry about that right now. Just go back to sleep. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, but our new offspring was being restless and I was trying to settle him."

"Barbara told you, didn't she?"

"Yes," he agreed, running gentle fingers down her cheek. He watched her grow tense as the shadow of fear settled over her. He leaned down swiftly, and enveloped her in a strong, warm embrace. "Barbara says that we can get through this and I believe it. I have never known anyone as strong as you are, and I know how much you want this child . . . how much we both want it."

"But Race, if I can't carry it to term . . ."

"You'll carry it as long as you can and then we'll put our faith in the Almighty and the hands of a woman that both of us trust without hesitation. We couldn't have better." His thumb traced her bottom lip gently. "We'll make it through this, sweetheart."

She nestled against him, clutching his shirt tightly. "I'm sorry you had to come back early, but I am so glad you're here."

He held her close and murmured into her hair, "I wouldn't be anywhere else."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

  


Jonny was jarred out of a sound sleep by the insistent buzzing of the alarm clock. Without even opening his eyes, he untangled one arm from the sheets and smacked at it blindly. On the third attempt, it went blessedly silent. With a sigh, he settled back comfortably and dozed off again.

"No, you don't." Jessie's voice brought him awake again. "Come on, you'll be late." Grabbing the sheet, she pulled it off of him and then began tugging at his pillow.

"Goway," he mumbled rebelliously.

"Up and at 'em, lover. We've got about 20 minutes before we need to be out of here, and you still need to get in the shower."

He rolled over, groaning in protest. "Geez, what time is it? I feel like I just went to bed."

"A little after six. You've had a wonderful two and a half hours of sleep. And you now have 15 minutes to get a shower or you're going to miss the T. And if you do, you'll be late to your 7:00 a.m. staff meeting and I'll miss my first class. So let's hit it . . ."

"I'm up . . . I'm up . . . " he said reluctantly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "You go on. I don't want you to be late."

"Not a chance. I do that and you're going to fall back over and go back to sleep. Shower . . . go. I'll find clothes for you and get your stuff together."

Ten minutes later, Jonny came back into the bedroom looking a bit more awake. Pulling on the clothes she had laid out for him, he ran a comb through his shaggy blonde hair and then walked quickly into the living room where Jessie was waiting for him. She began handing him things immediately . . . wallet, keys, change, pocket knife . . . As he stuffed all of it into his pants, she attached his company badge to his shirt pocket. Then she stepped back and surveyed him quickly. With a shake of her head and a tsking sound, she stepped up and unbuttoned his shirt, straightened it across his shoulders, and rebuttoned it evenly.

"Can't even dress myself any more," he said with a grin. "What would I do without you?"

"Probably sleep under the desk in your office and live on vending machine junk food," she replied briskly but with a glint of humor. Turning, she shoved something wrapped in foil into his hand, dropped an apple into his laptop carrying case, and handed the case to him. Grabbing her bookbag, she said, "We're going to have to run. Come on!"

Locking the door behind them, they rushed down the short corridor, and took the stairs two at a time down from their fifth floor apartment. On the third floor landing they met a round-shouldered, elderly woman with snow-white hair coming slowly up the stairs. With her was a sandy colored dog the size of a small horse.

"Good morning, Mrs. Taylor," they chorused as they made the turn at the landing and started down the next flight of stairs.

"Good morning, children," the woman replied cheerfully. The large dog gave a single, reverberating bark.

"Hi, Magnus!" Jessie replied with a grin, patting him on the head as they passed. The huge dog's tail thumped both walls as it waved happily at the greeting.

"Late again, I see," Mrs. Taylor said.

Struck by a sudden thought, Jonny froze on the stairs. "Oh, Mrs. Taylor, my brother and his girlfriend are coming up from New York City tomorrow for the weekend, so there will be a dark blue Honda Civic parked in the garage until Sunday evening. Could you let everyone else know so they don't worry about it?"

"Certainly, dear. You had better run along now, or you'll miss your train."

He grinned and waved as Jessie yelled at him to hurry. Clamoring down the stairs, he cleared the last four steps with a leap, the two of them burst out of the front door and sprinted up the street toward the train station. Both of them were in too much of a hurry to notice the friendly, amused grins of several local shopkeepers at the familiar sight of the running pair.

Jonny kissed Jessie hastily in the subterranean subway station and leaped onto his train just seconds before the doors closed and it pulled out. Twenty minutes later, he disembarked and climbed back to street level. Stopping at a nearby coffee shop, he purchased a large cup of coffee and at 6:55, walked back into the office.

"Whoa, would you look at this! He made it!"

Jonny gave Lin-Su a dirty look as he disappeared into his cubicle to drop off his laptop and grab a pen and paper. He also snatched his progress notes on his current projects. With coffee and breakfast in hand, he reappeared and followed the other members of his department toward the conference room.

Jonny sank into the chair between Blake and Lin-Su that they had saved for him. Kyle sat to the left of Lin-Su and Ted was on the other side of Blake. In a low voice, Jonny asked Blake,

"So did you have the chance to check the 5700 this morning?"

"Yes," Blake replied in the same low tone. "It ran fine once you fixed it. No problems."

Jonny heaved a soft sigh of relief. At that instant, two men entered the room. The first was a non-descript middle-aged man with graying blonde hair and brown eyes. The second man caused Jonny's eyes to widen slightly. Leaning over, he elbowed Blake and hissed, "Isn't that the boss, himself? Garrett Blackman?"

"Yes," Blake whispered back. "I wonder what's he's doing here?"

Garrett Blackman was the current wunderkind of the technical industry. At age 16, while still in high school, he'd developed a new technique of creating the thin strands of fiber optic filaments that were woven together to form fiber optic cable . . . the backbone of the information highway. The technique was not only easier, but made the cable more durable and substantially cheaper to produce. Rather than selling the idea, he patented it and began shopping for financial backing to produce it himself. By age 20 and his third year at M.I.T., he'd managed to convince a bank to loan him the start up funds and Blackman Telecommunications was born. He'd made his first million by age 24, expanded his product line at 26, had gone global at 28, and was considered one of the wealthiest men in America by age 30. He was now 34 years old, his company was among the Fortune 500, and he had a work force throughout the world numbering in the thousands. Watching him, it occurred to Jonny that he seemed familiar in some way. Then it struck him . . . Garrett Blackman reminded him of his father. Not that the two of them looked anything alike. Where Benton Quest was fair-skinned, tall, broad-shouldered, blue eyed, and had red hair that was graying at the temples, Garrett Blackman was slender, had swarthy skin, black hair and eyes, and probably only stood about 5'8". But he had a commanding presence that caused people to notice him whenever he walked into the room. Jonny finally decided that the resemblance had more to do with the way he carried himself . . . that same quiet confidence was evident in his father's every move.

Mr. Blackman sat down at the head of the table next to the middle-aged man, whom everyone in the room knew. His name was Stanley Knight and he was the Director of the Information Systems and Technical Development Division . . . their division. Jonny watched as Stan scanned the room, taking in the shifting crowd. It looked like most everyone was there. The room was packed to capacity and there were several people crowded into the doorway. With a quick word to the man beside him, he cleared his throat and said loudly,

"Okay people, hold it down. We've got a lot to cover this morning so let's get started." In rapid-fire succession he ran down company announcements, updates on product launches and what those would mean to the department, summarized and assigned a number of new projects, and discussed each divisions' current projects and what demands those would make on people in their department. Once he'd completed that, he turned to each section head and asked for a brief status report of their current projects. Finally, he stopped and looked around the room quizzically. "Systems software? Anyone seen Michael Adair this morning?"

A low murmur and a number of shaking heads indicated no one knew where he was. "Okay," Stan said easily, "we'll leave that for now. That only leaves web development. Jon, can you tell us how we're proceeding on that?"

"Yes sir," Jonny replied. "In-house interactive on-line product inventory and ordering is up and functioning reliably. Anyone who runs into a problem with it should e-mail me right away so I can check into it. The beta test site for the corporate world-wide webpage is now up and running and is in the final stages of debugging. The webpages for all divisions are created and tested and I'm currently waiting for the final signoff on content to complete that phase. The last major area still to finalize is Human Resources. The current hold up is getting the on-line employment application completed and operational. Procedures have been written and training implemented on the process for uploading new postings to the website and that appears to be in good order. I anticipate having the internet webpage debugged and ready to bring on-line by the end of next week."

A low murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd and Stan raised his eyebrows. "So soon? We had anticipated that project would take at least six to nine months to complete."

Jonny flushed slightly. "It went more quickly than anticipated, sir. A good portion of the base code that my predecessor had written was usable with only minor modification. It sped up the process substantially."

"I would say it must have. I commend your efforts, Jon. Any chance you can have it ready for a global demo by a week from tomorrow?"

Jonny considered it quickly and winced inwardly at the number of extra hours it would mean. But he didn't hesitate. "Yes, I'm sure I can have something put together by then."

"Good. Anything new to report on the intranet problems we've been experiencing?"

"Yes. I was able to isolate a large chunk of redundant code in one section of the program and made some modifications that should have helped response time . . . "

"Is _that_ why I can't get my copying done while waiting for my intranet downloads any more?" a voice from the back of the room asked. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.

Jonny grinned. "Probably. I've also begun mapping a new structure for the intranet system that I think will work better than the one we're currently using. I should have the basic design sketched out within the next two weeks."

"Well done, Jon!" He scanned the room again. "Still no Michael? All right. Then I'm going to turn the floor over to Mr. Blackman, who wants to say a few words this morning. Garrett?"

The young man rose and looked around the room. His voice was quiet but carried to every person present as he said, "I believe in acknowledging work well done and all of you here today have done an outstanding job during the last six months. Through your efforts, we've managed to launch two new products and have had absolutely _no_ chargeable computer downtime. Therefore, I'm here to announce that this department has earned the company's Award for Excellence. As most of you know, this award comes with a plaque for each of you, a trophy for the department, and a cash bonus of $1,000 per person." Applause and whistles followed that announcement and Garrett Blackman smiled. Holding up his hands for quiet, he continued, "But even in this environment of outstanding performance, there is one man who has made contributions above and beyond the definition of excellence for this company. He has worked tirelessly at the projects that have been assigned to him, making changes that have affected each and every person associated with this company, customer and employee alike. In addition, he has contributed to areas that are not assigned to him and has shown a willingness to assist in any task that appears to require an extra hand. This kind of dedication deserves special recognition." He turned suddenly and looked directly at Jonny. "Jon, would you stand please."

Jonny stared at the man and then looked to either side of him, certain he had to be talking to someone else. Then he looked back again. "Me?"

Garrett smiled. "Yes. You." Jonny stumbled to his feet. "On behalf of this company, I want to thank you for your efforts, Mr. Quest." He held out an envelope and Jonny took it from him numbly. "I understand that your girlfriend is current enrolled in M.I.T.," he continued. _How did he know that?_ Jonny wondered as he nodded. "The envelope you hold is a pair of tickets for a two week, all expense paid cruise to the Bahamas for the two of you during the first two weeks of January. It's our way of saying thank you for the outstanding job you've done since coming to work here."

"Thank you, sir," he said weakly over the sound of the applause from the rest of the staff.

Suddenly, Blake stood up beside him and his voice cut across the noise, causing it to die away. "Mr. Blackman, if I may?" Blackman nodded. "Many of the people in this room have only had the chance to make a passing acquaintance with Jon, but I'd like them to know the kind of things he does to merit this recognition." Ignoring Jonny's hissed, 'No, don't!', Blake continued, "At 7:00 last night, the guard called me at home to say that he'd gotten a security alarm on the computer that was scheduled to run payroll for the entire company. Unable to locate the person on call, they contacted me. I called Lin-Su, Kyle and Ted and the four of us came down here to see if we could resolve the problem." He shook his head. "Nothing we tried would correct it. At about 7:45, I called Jon. He cancelled special plans with Jessica . . . plans that had been set up weeks before . . . and came in to look at the problem. It took almost seven hours to fix, but he managed to do it. This morning I checked with the Payroll Department. All pay checks generated properly and all salary and benefits calculations were correct." He gazed around the room solemnly. "We're all gettin' paid tomorrow, friends and neighbors, because he went the extra mile for us . . . on a system that isn't even his responsibility. I'd say that we're pretty damned lucky to have him working for our team!" This time the applause was thunderous and everyone within reach began pounding Jonny on the back. Finally, embarrassed but pleased, he sank back into his seat with mumbled thanks. As the noise quieted, Blake added, "And for anyone who's interested, we'll be throwing a party for him at The Black Rose in Quincy Market after work tomorrow. Appetizers and drinks starting at 5:30 . . . dinner following at about 8:00. Be sure to RSVP to Angie if you're coming for dinner so we can get tables reserved!"

The mood of the office staff was downright festive as everyone filed out of the conference room, congratulating Jonny as they left. As soon as everyone was out of earshot, Jonny grabbed Blake. "Blake, I can't do an after-work party tomorrow night!"

"Your presence is _not_ optional. You gotta be there, Jon. You're the guest of honor. Just bring Jessica along. We all want to meet her anyway."

"You don't understand! My brother's coming in from New York tomorrow for the weekend. It's the first time he and his fiancée have been able to come since Jess and I moved here. I'm already committed."

"That's all right. Bring 'em along. The more the merrier. Now, I got to get back to work. Later, bro'."

Jonny watched helplessly as Blake walked off, whistling. A party with his office mates. Great. He could hear Hadji already.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Well, that sounds entertaining," Hadji said, a shade doubtfully.

"I really am sorry, Hadj, but I just can't get out of it."

Suddenly, Hadji began to laugh. "Actually, I believe it _should_ be interesting. From what you have told me of some of these people, it promises to be a lively evening. And it is good of them to host a party in your honor."

"I still can't believe it! I mean, the president of the company himself!"

"It is an exceptional honor, Jonny. You should be proud of the achievement."

"I guess. I suppose it just hasn't quite sunk in yet. I really didn't see any big thing about what I've been doing. It was just my job. It's what they pay me for, after all."

"But there is no reason not to recognize you for your efforts is there? What does Jessie have to say about it?"

"She doesn't know. This is her late day and she hasn't gotten home yet."

"I would very much like to be a fly on the wall when you tell her. She will be extremely pleased, I think."

"At any rate, how early do you think you can get here? This thing is supposed to start around 5:30 and we need to decide if you're going to come here or meet us there."

"I believe the best idea will be for us to meet Jessie at your apartment. As I recall, she is done by noon on Fridays, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then we can meet her there and you can go on with your co-workers and we will join you as soon as we can get there."

"Yeah, that should work." The sound of a key in the door warned him of Jessie's arrival. "I hear Jess, so I better go. Drive carefully coming up tomorrow."

"We will do so. Goodbye."

"Later!" Jonny hit the disconnect button, set the phone down on the coffee table, and rose just as Jessie came in the door. He pulled the white envelope that Garrett Blackman had given him that morning out of his shirt pocket and smiled. Hadji was right . . . he was looking forward to this.

"Hey, you're home early," she said in greeting, as she swung her bookbag into a chair near the front door.

"Early?" he said, raising an eyebrow as he took her in his arms and kissed her.

"Yeah, it's before midnight," she replied with a smile, right before their lips met. Jonny took his time, his lips moving over hers softly. The quiet sounds she made as her arms came around him warmed him clear to his soul. Finally, their lips parted and Jessie sighed. "Oh, that was nice. Was there a special reason for it?"

"I have something for you," he said softly and held up the envelope.

"What's this?" she asked, taking it from him.

He grinned. "Open it."

Mystified, she flipped the flap up and drew out the contents. She stared at the tickets in shock. Finally, her eyes came up to his and she gasped, "The Bahamas?"

"Two weeks," he agreed, grinning. "In January."

"But . . . but . . . Jonny, we can't afford this!"

"We don't have to. It was a gift." He told her about the morning meeting and what Blackman had said. "And I owe it all to you!"

"Now, how do you figure that?" she demanded, but her face was shining with pride.

"You were the one who insisted that I get out of bed this morning! Imagine how it would have looked if I had missed my own recognition meeting!"

Laughing, she threw her arms around him and hugged him jubilantly. "Oh, Jonny, I'm so pleased for you! You so deserve this."

"_**WE**_ deserve this," he corrected her, hugging her tightly. "I may have been doing the work, but you've been the one stuck with all the work around the apartment and the long nights here alone while I'm gone. This is as much for what you've put up with as anything else."

"It's a team effort," she said.

"Absolutely. Oh, and another thing. The guys at the office are throwing a party in my honor tomorrow night after work."

Her smile faded slightly. "What about Hadji and Kefira?"

"They're invited. I've already talked to Hadji and he's fine with it. They'll meet you here and then you can join the crowd at The Black Rose once they arrive."

She grinned happily. "Cool! This should be a lot of fun. And I finally get to meet all the people that keep hauling you away from me."

He grinned back at her and hugged her again. "Party city, here we come."


	5. Chapter 5

**

Chapter Five

**

  


"Jon Quest," Jonny said absently into the phone, about mid-day on Friday. _Now, why isn't that working?_ He changed a couple of lines of code and executed the subroutine again.

"Jon? It's Stan. You have a few minutes?"

"Sure," he replied, startled.

"Why don't you come to my office?"

"I'll be right there." After saving what he was doing, he locked his PC down and headed for Stan's office. There was an immediate response to his knock, so he opened the door and entered. He was surprised to find Garrett Blackman and Benjamin Sikes waiting with his boss.

"Come on in, Jon. Have seat."

"Thanks," Jonny replied and sat down. He flicked a quick look over at the dark-haired, portly man in the chair next to him. "Hi, Dr. Sikes. Good to see you again."

"Jon," he acknowledged with a grin. "I hear that you're making me look good around here."

Jonny's answering grin was spontaneous. "I'm trying. And I hear that you're a bear in the intro engineering survey course."

Sikes laughed outright. "Is Ms. Bannon telling tales on me? Not that she has anything to be concerned about. She's so far ahead of anyone else in that course, I've seriously been wondering what she's doing there."

Jonny shrugged. "Required course."

Sikes frowned. "Who's her advisor?"

Jonny frowned, trying to remember. "Davisson? Does that sound right?"

Sikes shook his head. "I think I'm going to see if I can do something about that. Davisson is too stuck on catalog requirements. Jessica belongs in an accelerated program. She's going to get too bored with the standard curriculum. I'll talk to her and if she's agreeable, I'll see if the department chair would be willing to transfer her to me as an advisee."

"I know she wouldn't want you to go to any trouble . . ."

"Don't worry, son. I've got an ulterior motive. She's the brightest student that I've seen in a very long time and I've heard rumors that she's interested in environmental engineering as a degree."

Jonny grinned again. "Yes, sir. She's considering that, telecommunications engineering, or computer science."

"You suppose that she'd be willing to stick with environmental engineering if I can show her a way to combine all three and graduate with at least two degrees?"

Jonny's grin widened. "Yes, I suspect she would."

"Stan tells me your co-workers are throwing a party for you tonight. Is she going to be there?" Jonny nodded. "Well, I think I'm just going to have to invite myself along."

Blackman had been following the conversation with interest. "Someone else I should be taking note of, Ben?"

"You couldn't do better," Sikes agreed. He nodded at Jonny. "Another one like him."

"I'll look forward to meeting her this evening, then."

Jonny looked at the man, surprised. "You're going to be there this evening, sir?"

"I wouldn't miss it," he said with a friendly grin. "It's not often that I have the chance to go to a party that is designed solely for fun any more. I'm looking forward to it. But that isn't the reason why we wanted to talk with you, Jon." Blackman looked at Jonny seriously. "The incident that Blake Fearday mentioned in the staff meeting yesterday morning. What can you tell us about that?"

"Not much more than Blake said at the meeting," Jonny replied. "He called me at home . . . said the system was crashing and that nothing he did would fix it. Asked me if there was any way that I could come in and look at it. I knew that the 5700 was scheduled to run payroll that night. In fact, I'd even checked it before I left to go home to be sure it was functioning properly."

"Why?"

Jonny shrugged. "Force of habit, more than anything, I guess. My dad always insisted that we double-check any systems running vital programs before walking away from them." A smile flickered briefly. "You can destroy _years_ of on-going research with one computer glitch if you aren't extremely careful. The habit's so ingrained now that I find myself doing it without even thinking about it." He didn't hesitate in offering that explanation. All of the men in this room knew who his father was.

"Why didn't you try to call Michael Adair?"

"Blake said both he and Marco had already tried but couldn't reach him." Jonny looked from Blackman to his boss. "Did he ever show up at work yesterday? I don't remember seeing him . . ."

"Yes. He got in about 10:00," Stan replied.

"What can you tell me about the problem with the system itself?" Blackman continued.

Jonny frowned and slid down in the chair, extending his legs out in front of him. "Now, that was seriously weird. The entire program was corrupted, but only in small spots. The damage wasn't extensive, but it occurred in places that prevented the program from running . . . things like filter commands, directional statements, and if/then conditionals. And it wasn't that code was destroyed so much as it was . . ." He searched for the right word. ". . . redirected, I guess. The execution caused the program to double back on itself so many times, things finally became so scrambled that the entire program broke down. It's the reason that the reset and override codes wouldn't work."

"Any thoughts on what caused it?" Knight asked.

Jonny thought about it and finally shook his head. "No. Sometimes you can get scrambling of a program when you get a power spike during a run, but everyone swears there wasn't one that night. Also, you'd expect the corruption to be more extensive than it was if a power spike had caused it. I'll say this much. We probably need to start checking the systems carefully for ground faults or shorts because this isn't the first time I've seen this since I started working here."

Knight looked grim. "That's what I was afraid of." He looked over at Blackman. "I think he's right, Garrett. This is happening too often. Something's causing it and we need to find out what."

Jonny hesitated, questioning whether he should voice another thought that had occurred to him. Blackman caught the pause and prompted him.

"Something else, Jon?"

"I don't know . . . I may be way off base on this . . . "

"Why don't you let us decide that," Blackman said quietly. "If you have any ideas about this situation, I want to hear them."

Jonny sighed. "I think it wouldn't hurt for us to look for back doors, either."

"You think someone might be getting in and doing this deliberately?" Sikes questioned, looking disturbed.

Jonny shrugged. "You gotta understand . . . I'm suspicious by nature when it comes to stuff like this. Jess, Hadji and I grew up trying to second-guess a crazy by the name of Surd who was always trying to get into my Dad's research computers. When weird stuff starts happening, I tend to get jumpy."

"I agree with Jon . . . we need to check out the possibility," Blackman agreed. "Let's put a team together immediately." He looked at Jonny. "I'd like to put you on this one, Jon, but we need to get the internet and intranet project up and operating. If we still haven't located the problem by the time you finish up what you have on your plate, we'll add you to this one."

"I understand," Jonny replied with a nod. "Whatever you need me to do."

Blackman grinned at him in evident pleasure. "It is a rare treat to work with someone so willing to do whatever is necessary!"

Jonny grinned back. "Can I ask one favor?"

"Name it."

"Both my girlfriend and my brother are gonna kill me if I end up having to work this weekend."

All three of the others laughed. "Ms. Bannon getting a bit tired of your hours, is she?" Sikes asked.

"Only when I cancel on carefully planned special occasions," Jonny qualified hastily. "She's really very supportive . . ."

"I don't doubt it," Sikes reassured him. "She seems to be a very special young woman."

"They don't come any better. I'm very lucky."

"Well, let's keep you lucky, shall we?" Blackman said. "You are officially off duty for the weekend as of 5:00 p.m. I don't want to see you or hear that you've put in an appearance in this place before 8:00 a.m. Monday morning. Stan, will you be certain that the rest of your staff knows this? I want it clear that the only person who can call Jon in to work this weekend is me."

"I'll take care of it," Stan said.

"You are not to be here this weekend, Jon . . . for any reason. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"'Sir'," Blackman said, shaking his head. "Are you always so polite?"

"Yes, sir," Jonny replied with a chuckle. "Another thoroughly ingrained habit."

Blackman grinned and waved his hand at the young man. "Go back to work, Jon."

The three men waited until the door closed behind Jonny before Blackman said, "That boy was one hell of a find, Ben. But what is he doing here? He belongs in school."

Sikes shook his head. "I don't know all the details, but it has something to do with a dispute with his father over his choice of schools."

"I thought Benton Quest was an M.I.T. graduate and a trustee. Surely he could have gotten the boy in there."

"He is, and the way I hear it, that was the problem. The boy was determined to attend M.I.T. and his father was equally determined he would go somewhere else."

"He objects to M.I.T. for his son?" Knight asked in surprise.

Sikes looked thoughtful. After a moment, he shook his head. "No, I don't think it's the school that's the problem." He glanced at the others. "This is just a guess, you understand, but based on little things the Bannon girl has said, I get the impression the problem has more to do with the extent of their relationship and their living arrangements than anything else. I suspect that Jessica had accepted the admission to M.I.T. and Quest wanted to separate them."

"Ah," Blackman said, leaning back in his chair. "That _would_ cause a problem, because the impression _**I**_ get is that young man wouldn't take well to being dictated to over something important to him. I must say, I'm looking forward to meeting this girl."

"I'd say she's one cause worth fighting for," Sikes agreed.

Blackman glanced over at Knight. "We need to start encouraging him to go back part time. With the interactive TV classroom here in the building, he can do it easily."

"He's been blacklisted at M.I.T." Sikes warned.

"Blacklisted!" Knight exclaimed. "He's the kind the school should be begging to attend."

Sikes shrugged. "You're going to have to take that up with Vest. My understanding is that Quest the Elder put pressure on him to have the boy's nomination pulled after the committee recommended him for admission. Until that door opens, Jon is SOL."

Blackman looked grim. "I'll take care of _that_ situation. I won't have the brightest of my people denied admission to a school I pour money into every year!"

Knight rocked back in his chair and glanced at the other two men. "So what do you think of my suggestion now that you've had the chance to talk with him? I know he's young, but he's well liked and knows his stuff. He's organized, works like he's all but obsessed, and he's good at mobilizing the others in the unit to do the same. He's also seriously quiet about both his age and his family background . . . he doesn't throw his famous father in anyone's face. I think Fearday may know the truth, but I'll bet no one else does."

"So he and Fearday have become friends," Blackman said thoughtfully.

Knight nodded. "Blake Fearday, Lin-Su Chen, Kyle Desmond, Ted Larson, and the Quest boy. That's the cadre. It was those five that tackled the payroll program . . . found the problem and got it fixed . . . all on their own initiative."

Blackman grinned. "The Network Lords strike again."

Knight laughed outright, nodding. "Yes. I have to admit, Garrett, I got a kick out of it when that appellation stuck." 

"So did I."

"He surrounds himself with the best and the brightest," Sikes said, looking from one man to the other, somewhat mystified. When neither offered an explanation, he shrugged and continued. "That's a good sign. You give those five room to grow and in five years you're going to have an I.S. department that's unequalled anywhere."

"I.S. department, Ben?" Blackman said softly. "Oh, no. If I have my way, in five years they'll be the driving force behind this company . . . probably with the Quest boy leading the charge." He nodded decisively. "Do it, Stan. Promote him to Adair's job as head of Systems Software."

"Effective when?"

"Let's wait until after he finishes up the internet project and submits the proposal for the revised intranet reorganization. Can you cope for a couple of weeks?"

Knight looked disgusted. "It won't be any different than what we've been doing. Michael Adair hasn't been pulling his weight for several months. I would have fired him a long time ago, but he was always careful not to give me good, clear-cut grounds doing it. But the business on Wednesday night was it. I'm just glad to be rid of him!"

Blackman and Sikes rose. "Good," Blackman said. "Why don't you go ahead and begin putting together the paperwork to replace Jon. That way it's ready to go once we announce the promotion."

At Knight's nod, the two men waved and walked out together. At the elevator, they ran into Jonny.

"Off to lunch?" Blackman asked cordially.

"Sort of . . . I'm just going to run down to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich and bring it back up here. I think I've almost got the glitch in the HR application form fixed. I'm going to have that sucker running before I leave here tonight even if it kills me!"

"Or when 5:00 rolls around," Blackman warned him with mock sternness. "You are off duty at 5:00 tonight, whether it's finished or not. I want you out of here and relaxing. Also, you are under strict orders to leave your laptop here for the weekend, too. Clear?"

Jonny saluted him sharply. "Yes, sir!"

Blackman snorted and waved to the other two as the express elevator to his penthouse office arrived.

"So how is Great Aunt Emma?" Sikes asked idly as the elevator door closed.

"Mrs. Taylor?" Jonny grinned. "Feisty as ever. She was out in the middle of the street playing Frisbee with Magnus when I got home last night."

"That damned dog!" Sikes growled. "I wish she'd get rid of it. None of the family is comfortable with her being all alone at the age of 76, but with that dog, there's nowhere else that will take her."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Dr. Sikes. She really isn't alone. All of the residents of the building look out for each other. And Magnus keeps her safe out on the street."

"From what she tells me, the people who look out for her the most are you and Jessica. I really do appreciate that."

"Not a problem," Jonny said as the elevator door opened in front of them. The two of them entered and Jonny pressed the buttons for the ground floor and the basement. There was a slight jolt as the elevator began its descent. "We like her a lot. Furthermore, it's the least we can do. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have this job or our apartment. We really do owe you for all the help you've given us."

Sikes looked at him speculatively. Reaching out, he hit the stop button and the elevator slowly came to a halt. "I'll give you an opportunity to start paying me back."

Jonny looked surprised and a little uneasy. "Anything I can do," he said cautiously.

"You can start back to school."

Sikes saw the young man tense immediately. "Now you sound like my father," he said stiffly.

"If he's pushing you to continue on, then he's right."

"What's wrong with what I'm doing?" Jonny demanded defensively. "I like it and I think I make a contribution."

"You make a significant contribution. But you can make a greater one with more education."

"I want to go to M.I.T.," he replied stubbornly. "Aside from it being the best engineering school in the area, it's a matter of principle for me. Since that's not possible, I prefer not to continue right now."

"And if it could be made possible?"

Jonny stared at Sikes, stunned. "But Dr. Rankin told me . . . That's . . . " He stopped, took a deep breath, then shook his head. "I won't have someone else booted out just to make room for me. That's not right."

"That wouldn't happen."

"How is that possible?" Jonny demanded.

"Your father is not the only one who has influence around here. Would you consider part time if we can get you admitted and you could take classes here in the building via satellite?"

Jonny nodded slowly. "Yes . . . yes, I would." Then he looked at Sikes sharply. "Just be careful who you put in my father's way, Dr. Sikes. He's a dangerous enemy."

"Are you saying your father might retaliate against anyone who cleared the way for you to continue on at M.I.T.?"

Jonny looked troubled. "I don't really think I know my father any more, Dr. Sikes, so I don't know what he would do."

"That bothers you," the older man said, looking at Jonny closely.

Jonny nodded, looking downcast. "Yeah, it does. Dad and I were always so close . . . especially after my mother died. It's been hard . . . being at odds with him like this. I wish we could find a way to resolve the problem, but . . . " he trailed off and shrugged.

"Well, things tend to work out in the end," Sikes said consolingly, hitting the elevator start button again. "Let's take one thing at a time. Give me a few weeks and I'll let you know about school."

Jonny nodded as the elevator opened and Sikes walked away. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Pack it up, bro', it's time to leave."

"Huh?" Jonny mumbled, looking up blearily. "Wha' . . ."

"Shut it down. You have fifteen minutes to get everything put away and your desk cleared before you are in default of The Man's orders."

"How did you know about that?" Jonny demanded, fending off Blake's attempts to type commands into his system. "Stop that! Another 20 minutes to half hour and I'll have this done!"

"No, you won't. In another ten minutes you'll be walking out the door downstairs, a free man for the entire weekend. Stan sent me to make sure you are out of here on time and that your laptop remains locked in your desk."

"Oh, come on, Blake . . . 20 minutes . . . "

"Nope. _**NOW!**_ If you need incentive, think of that girlfriend of yours . . . you know, the one _all_ of us are dying to meet. You stand her up tonight and she's liable to go home with one of the other programmers!"

Jonny started to laugh and, reaching out, he saved the file and began the shutdown process. "Can't have that," he conceded. Clearing his desk hastily, he stashed his computer in the bottom drawer of his desk and locked it. Standing, he took a final quick look around and then faced his friend. "Okay, I am out of here!"

"Let's do it. The Friday night party crowd awaits."

A familiar voice suddenly drifted over the partition that formed Jonny's office wall. "You have four minutes to get downstairs and out that front door, Mr. Quest."

"I'm going . . . I'm going . . ." Jonny said, as he came around the partition wall and grinned at Stan Knight. "We'll see you at The Black Rose, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


A huge crowd had already gathered by the time Jonny and Blake arrived. Word had obviously spread outside the I.S. department and many other employees of the company had chosen to join in the festivities. Applause and whistles greeted their arrival. Over his laughing protests, Jonny was planted squarely in the middle of the crowd at an elevated table.

Blake leaned in and yelled over the noise, "What do you want to drink?"

"Something non-alcoholic," he yelled back.

"Beer do?" Jonny nodded and Blake disappeared. Not long after, he returned with a couple of glasses and a pitcher of golden brown liquid. Blake filled a glass and handed it to Jonny, who eyed it suspiciously. "Non-alcoholic, I swear," Blake insisted over the din. "They brew their own here and it really is good."

Jonny sampled it and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "This is good. Takes like German beer."

It was Blake's turn to look surprised. "How do you know what German beer tastes like?"

"Because I've had it. Dad always let me sample stuff if it was legal to do it where we were. Trust me, some of the places we visited, it was safer to drink the beer and wine than it was the _water_!"

Blake just shook his head. Raising his voice above the din, he yelled, "Hey, listen up everyone! I want to start the night with a toast about a Friday night after-work party that's destined to go down in Blackman Telecommunications history and to the guy that's the reason for it." Blake raised his glass and saluted Jonny. "Jon, here's to you. Because of you, we can actually _**pay**_ for this tonight!" The laughter and cheers were thunderous as Jonny raised his glass to join in.

The party was in high gear about an hour later when a loud whistle made Jonny look up from his conversation with Sikes and a group from the safety department. One of the senior marketing representatives stood at his shoulder looking awestruck.

"Oh man, I am in love," he said with conviction.

As a group, everyone at the table turned to follow his gaze and almost immediately Sikes began to laugh. "Down boy," he advised the young man. "That one's already taken . . ."

Jonny felt his breath catch as he followed the others' gaze and spotted Jessie. The Black Rose often offered live entertainment, including local bands, karaoke, D.J.s, and various other stage shows. Therefore, it had an elevated dance floor. In an effort to locate him, Jessie had taken to high ground and now stood at the edge of the dance floor, directly under one of the spotlights. Scattered applause and wolf whistles caused her to blush as she scanned the crowd looking for him. One guy even went up to her and Jonny saw her shake her head in response to an obvious offer of company. Not that Jonny blamed the guy . . . she looked fantastic. She was dressed simply in a pair of black jeans and a dark green top that clung to her curves enticingly. The spotlights glinted off gold at her throat and ears, and turned her waist-length red hair to flame. Jonny could feel the silly grin that spread across his face as he rose and waved to her. Across the crowded room their eyes locked and warm contentment filled him as she smiled.

Beside him, he heard Blake mutter, "Holy shit! That's Jessica???"

"That's Jessica," Sikes agreed.

Jessie looked down and pointed toward Jonny, saying something to someone out of sight in the crowd below her. Then she jumped down off the stage and began making her way toward him. As Jonny watched, Hadji and Kefira materialized at her back and followed her.

As Jonny moved away from the table to meet her, Blackman turned to Sikes and said, "I understand your point now."

Sikes raised his eyebrows in question. "Which one?"

"About causes worth fighting for."

"Told you," Sikes replied with a grin.

Jonny seemed totally oblivious to the interested stares of the people around him as Jessie came up and slid into his outstretched arms.

"Made it," she said, smiling up at him with a loving look.

"Finally!" he murmured as he leaned down to brush his lips across hers. "Missed you," he whispered in her ear. Her quick caress of his cheek and the look in her eyes told him she felt the same. Glancing up, his face changed to a look of overjoyed recognition. Releasing Jessie, he stepped past her and threw his arms around the young man behind her in an enthusiastic bear hug. "Hadji! Man, it's good to see you!!!"

Hadji returned the gesture, pounding him solidly on the back. "It is good to see you, also. It has been too long."

"Way too long!" Jonny agreed fervently. Then he stepped past Hadji and caught the young woman behind him in a hug. "Hi, Kefira . . . you're looking great!"

The young Indian woman laughed and gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Jon. I am also happy to see you."

"Are you keeping this troublemaker out of mischief?"

"Who is the troublemaker?" Hadji protested, as Kefira replied,

"I am certainly trying." Then she grinned up at him. "Jessie tells me she would do the same for you, however she never sees you!"

"Well, she's got me all to herself this weekend. I don't have to work at all," he assured her as he gathered Jessie into one arm again.

"Uh huh, I've heard that before," Jessie replied skeptically.

"I assure you, Ms. Bannon, that this time it's true. I've expressly forbidden him to work this weekend. He's more than earned it."

The four young people turned and Jonny said, "Guys, I want you to meet the founder and president of Blackman Telecommunications, Garrett Blackman. Mr. Blackman, this is Jessica Bannon, my brother, Hadji Singh, and my brother's fiancée, Kefira Subramanian."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, sir," Jessie said immediately, stepping forward to offer him her hand.

"No, the pleasure's mine, Ms. Bannon. I've been looking forward to this. I've heard very good things about you."

"Thank you," she said in surprise. Turning a wary eye on Jonny she asked him, "What kind of tales have you been telling about me, anyway?"

"Only wonderful and highly complimentary ones," he assured her with a grin. "Furthermore, I'm not the only one that's been telling him things . . ." He gestured toward the nearby table and Jessie's eyes widened.

"Dr. Sikes!"

"Good evening, Jessica," he replied with a smile.

"Okay, bro', you've kept us in suspense long enough. Introduce us to this gorgeous creature and her friends . . ."

With a resigned look, Jonny gestured to the young black man who stood at the head of a group of people hovering nearby. "Well, I suppose I could only protect you just so long . . . You've heard me talk about these guys often enough, so let's just do this quick." He pointed to each of them in turn. "Lin-Su Chen, High Priestess of database development; Kyle Desmond is The Knight, optics software guru; Ted Larson, network and telecommunication software wonderboy, also know as The Mage; and this . . . this is The Wizard - Blake Fearday, mainframe software development."

Jessie frowned in mock ferocity at Blake, "Oh _**YOU'RE**_ the one that's always calling him to go into work."

"Yeah, but it's so _easy_ . . ." Blake said with an evil grin.

"Tell me about it!" was her disgusted reply, and everyone laughed.

"This is Jessica," Jonny continued, as he tightened his arm and smiled down at her. Then he gestured and added, "My brother, Hadji, and his fianceé, Kefira."

Shaking Hadji's hand, Kyle commented, "It's nice to meet you and to reassure ourselves he isn't an alien or something," as Lin-Su said to Jessie, "You have no idea how disappointed I am to find out you really exist!"

"Alien?" Hadji asked, startled.

"Well, he never talks about himself," Ted commented, "so we'd about decided he had something to hide."

Jonny snorted. "I don't have anything to hide . . . there's just nothing particularly interesting to say!"

Reaching out, Blake caught Jessie's hand and started to draw her away from Jonny. "Yes, and now that _you're_ here, we can find out if that's true . . ."

Swatting at Blake's hand, Jonny retrieved his girlfriend. "Stop that!" he commanded with a scowl, but the laughter in his eyes was clear.

"What?" Blake asked, feigning injured innocence.

"Do I have to remind you who was warning me about someone stealing my girlfriend this evening if I didn't show for this function? And don't think I don't know which _particular_ programmer you had in mind to walk off with her!"

"Yes, and if you hadn't shown I might have done it, too!" Jessie responded spiritedly, causing everyone to laugh.

The hours passed swiftly and before Jonny realized it, the crowd had dwindled down to a small number and the bartender was announcing last call. Blake, Kyle, Lin-Su, and Garrett Blackman were still sitting a table with Jonny and Hadji. Jessie was nearby at a different table with Sikes, pouring over notes on a five year, dual major degree program. Kyle and Lin-Su were talking animatedly with Kefira about her experiences working in her father's mines, while Hadji and Blake discussed various techniques of mainframe programming. Overhearing a random comment, Jonny looked over at his brother and said,

"Hey, Hadj, I've got a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Let's say you've got a mainframe computer program. It's been running fine for next to forever . . . no glitches. All of a sudden it bombs." Silence fell over the table as everyone suddenly began paying attention to the conversation. Jonny glanced over at Garrett Blackman with a questioning look and the man nodded at him to continue. "Hey, Jess, you listen to this too . . ." Jonny added. Obediently, she rose and came to lean against his chair.

"A computer program with a problem," Hadji prompted, leaning forward with interest.

Jonny nodded. "So you check the program and find all these little corruption errors. Find 'em all throughout the program, not just in one spot. Not extensive damage as in lines and lines of code . . . just small hit and miss stuff."

Hadji frowned, thinking about it. "And the program has never had the problem before."

"Nope."

"Was it easy to fix?"

"Yeah. Damage easy to spot and easy to correct, although time consuming."

"All right. So what is the question?"

"How do you figure it happened?"

"Power surge," Jessie replied promptly.

"Checked. Not the problem."

"Interference with another program currently running on the same system," Kefira offered.

"System was dedicated to the program running at the time."

"How about unclean connections," Jessie added. "Mainframe, network or desktop based?"

"Mainframe," Jonny replied.

Kefira shook her head. "It is unlikely to be connections, then. Improper grounding of the computer itself?"

Jonny parroted her action. "Nothing else on the system is showing a problem."

"Have you seen a similar problem in other programs?" Hadji asked slowly.

"Couple of times," Jonny acknowledged.

"On the same computer system?" Jonny shook his head mutely, watching his brother closely. Hadji thought about it for a long time and then looked up at Jonny gravely. "Then I would start searching for sabotage."

Jonny sighed. "I was really hoping you wouldn't say that."


	6. Chapter 6

**

Chapter Six

**

  


Neela Singh rose abruptly and in a quiet, highly charged voice she said, **"That is enough!"** Silence descended abruptly. "The purpose of this meeting was to attempt to find an equitable solution to the issue before us. No constructive purpose is being served by this bickering."

"It is _not_ bickering," one voice protested. "These are legitimate concerns. No one argues that there is a need for taxation to support government programs. But the current proposal lays undue burden on the poorest of our people."

"Yes, but what you propose as an alternative will place the largest portion of the liability on the city-based businesses and industry," another retorted. "That will result in limiting growth of these industries, which provide the basis of this country's economic stability."

"Limit growth? Ha! Cut into your profit is what you mean to say!" Angry voices escalated and everyone was quickly shouting at each other once again.

**"I SAID THAT WAS ENOUGH!"** It was rare that the Royal Regent raised her voice in the Council chambers and the sound of it was enough to still the tumult. "I have listened to all I can tolerate today. None of you are prepared to attempt an honest negotiation, so this is a waste of time. I am adjourning this meeting. We will reconvene at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning to take this issue up again, and I strongly suggest that all of you come to this table prepared to reach a settlement. Do not force me into making a unilateral decision."

A middle-aged man at the far end of the table rose to his feet, a determined expression on his face. Neela could feel her stomach clench, at it always did when Vijay Patel took the floor. A charismatic speaker and the leader of the younger faction on the Sultan's Advisory Council, he had been handpicked by her son for his current position. He rarely spoke out in open session, but when he did, there were always repercussions. He bowed politely and said in an even tone that carried easily around the room,

"Excellency, we apologize for the difficulty these negotiations have caused. I know that we all realize this has been an arduous process. But this issue is vital to the well-being of our people and it is important that the proposal that comes out of these chambers be one that all of us can convince those we represent to support. I am sure you understand this and agree." He paused and looked at her expectantly, demanding some sort of acknowledgement. She nodded her head stiffly. Satisfied, he continued, "We have debated this issue for many weeks now, but we seem no closer to a solution than when we began. I regret to say it, but I believe the time has come to seek the direction and advice of the Sultan."

Neela stiffened as a murmur of agreement swept around the table. "My son's energies are focused on the need to complete his education so that he may return here permanently as soon as possible," she said coldly. "To disturb him with an issue that we should be able to resolve within this Council is unnecessary."

"Perhaps," Patel said, his voice deliberately pitched at a level designed not to antagonize. "But the truth is that we have been debating this issue for many weeks and yet I have no clear idea of the Sultan's wishes on the matter. I am aware that both you and Mr. Birla . . . " he nodded to the man two seats to his right at the opposite end of the table from Neela, ". . . favor the more conservative stand that supports an across the board flat tax on all members of the population with no taxation of businesses. While I will concede that this definitely promotes economic growth, it does not address the issue of how the poorer members of our population will feed themselves, particularly in light of the fact that the concept of barter as an alternative to cash payments has been struck down." Neela took a breath, preparing to reply to his comments, but his raised hand forestalled her. "There is another point that has not even been raised, but that needs to be considered, as well." The young man scanned the faces sitting around the table with a hard look.

"This country has a long history of female infanticide. We do not like to acknowledge that fact, but it is true, nonetheless. And the practice is not limited to the poorer, rural areas. I have recently seen statistics that show that the incidence of newborn female children found abandoned or allowed to starve in the urban areas has risen appallingly over the last twenty years. Dowry costs, the female's relative inability to help financially support the family, the knowledge that once married the girl's allegiance will be to her in-laws rather than her birth family, and the relatively low value that has traditionally been placed on female children has fostered this practice for years out of memory. However, the Sultan has been **extremely** clear about his position on this practice . . . he will _**not**_ tolerate it. But the tax that is proposed here will have a profound effect on this situation. Families already pushed to their limits will face not only the traditional burden of raising the female child and paying the dowry, but now the added burden of having to pay the _government_ for every child they have . . . including the female ones. There is no doubt that the level of female infanticide will rise sharply once again if this policy is implemented. I cannot believe that the Sultan would favor such a program in light of his strong objection to this practice."

If anything, the silence around the table grew deeper as Patel turned to stare directly at Neela. There was no placating tone or neutral expression now. "You have said that if we cannot come to some sort of mutual decision on this issue, that you will make a unilateral decision on the matter. I contend, Lady Neela, that you have already shown a bias that makes you incapable of making a balanced decision on this issue. Therefore, regardless of the Sultan's other commitments, it has become necessary that he take a hand in this matter."

Neela was rigid with fury. To have said such a thing to the Royal Regent! That alone would have earned him a painful death during her husband's reign. And to do it in an open forum in front of the entire Council . . . "Mr. Birla and I have discussed . . ."

"Mr. Birla," Patel interrupted in a harsh tone, "has no power in this situation. His role in this organization is to serve as an advisor and to bring concerns to the attention of the Royal Regent and the Sultan . . . not to make independent policy decisions that will be unilaterally implemented. He can advise you, however, I still contend that you are not in a position to make an unbiased decision and the choice on how to handle this must be turned over to the Sultan." His tone was dry as he added, "I greatly doubt that he will object to involving himself in the matter once he realizes the gravity of the situation. He need not even return. I am certain a way can be found to allow him to communicate directly with this Council while still in the United States. With your leave, I will be happy to contact him and see if such a conference can be arranged within the next day or so."

"It is not your place to contact my son . . . about this or any other matter," she snapped, her face as white as the sari she wore. "If he is to become directly involved, I will be the one to do so."

Patel inclined his head. "I offer only in the spirit of courtesy and the desire to help resolve this issue quickly, Excellency."

"Your offer has been noted," she said with only the barest hint of courtesy. "I will consider your words and notify this Council of the time of the next meeting. Until then, this session is ended." With that, she turned and swept out of the room.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Rajeev Subramanian bowed his head, wondering if things could possibly get any worse. "You took a very dangerous chance confronting the Regent in this way, Vijay. You know that by the existing laws of this country your declaration is sufficient cause to have you executed."

"I know," Vijay agreed. "But I think it unlikely that the Lady Neela will order my execution when her own son has put me on his Council. Also, it had reached the point where it was necessary to do something. She had declared that a decision had to made at the meeting tomorrow morning or she would make the decision herself. I could not let it come to that."

The two men sat comfortably in Rajeev's study in his home in the northern mountain provinces of Bangalore. Patel had arrived not long before, having left Bangalore City immediately after the meeting. He had taken great care not to be followed, going first to his own home and then slipping out secretly a few minutes later.

"Is that meeting still scheduled?"

Patel shook his head. "No. She has set no date for the next one and I did not push her. I did leave her with the clear knowledge that if she did not call the Sultan, that I would do so, however." He sat forward abruptly, staring at Rajeev intently. "Why does he not come home, Rajeev? He is needed here. I understand that the years away from us have changed him . . . given him other interests and people that matter to him. But his country also needs him, and trying to operate in this vacuum without his guidance is asking for disaster. The people are getting restless and angry. There are rumors that the palace guards are turning abusive again . . . much as they were under Vikram's reign. And the country's militia are said to be raiding farms and villages, stealing foodstuffs and goods with impunity. If something is not done and soon, there will be revolution."

Rajeev stared moodily at the top of his desk. He, too, had heard the rumors of growing unrest. Anger was building and was sure to erupt if something wasn't done. He simply didn't know what. "Tell me, Vijay," Rajeev said suddenly. "The anger and resentment you are seeing . . . is it directed toward the Sultan?"

Vijay frowned, contemplating the question thoughtfully. "Now that is strange," he finally replied. "I am not sure I have given it a great deal of thought up to now. It seems extremely nebulous, not specifically directed at anyone. There is a definite 'they', but that generic does not seem to be applied to the Sultan himself."

"What do you mean?" Rajeev asked.

"The references are often made in the same sentence . . . '_They_ cannot do this and I am sure _He_ will not allow it.' Or 'It was not _His_ decision; _They_ were to blame'."

"But no specific names."

"No, but that is not surprising. Considering our recent history, it is not likely anyone is going to be caught putting a real name to an oppressor. There have been too many times in recent memory when that mistake has come back to annihilate an entire family."

Rajeev sighed. "Yes, I know."

"Why did you ask? Are you questioning whether the people still support the Sultan, because I believe that they do. But they are starting to wonder why he seems so unwilling to come home and lead them."

Rajeev nodded heavily. "I know that, too. All I can tell you, my friend, is that there are reasons why it is not wise for him to be in the country right now."

Patel nodded and rose. "Very well. I will do the best that I can and hope it will be sufficient." As the two men walked toward the front of the house, he continued pleasantly, "I hope your family is well? I paid my respects to the Lady Anila as I came in, but the rest of the house seems very quiet."

Rajeev chuckled. "It has been that way recently. With the Sumant and Daria married and gone, and Kefira at school the house seems rather empty. And now Maia is pressuring me to allow her to attend a special religious school in Mumbai . . . Before long, there will be no one left but Anila and I!"

"It must seem strange," Patel agreed with a laugh. "I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like. My house seems in a constant state of chaos."

"I am not so old that I cannot remember what it was like to have four small children underfoot. And I am not too proud to admit that there are times when I miss that feeling."

Patel eyed Rajeev with open sympathy. "It must be hard, having Kefira gone. I know that she was a great help to you with the business."

"Yes," Rajeev admitted. "I miss her . . . very much. And for more reasons that just for her help with the business. I never realized how much I enjoyed her fire and enthusiasm. She threw herself into everything with such energy and devotion. She was always coming up with new ideas or projects. Many of them were too outlandish to be practical, certainly, but she never became disheartened. I may have said no to 50 projects before I agreed to try even one, but that one seemed sufficient to drive her to continue looking. And do you know, every one I ever tried turned out to be a huge success." He smiled wryly. "It took the Sultan's support of her desire to go on to engineering school for me to realize that I was dismissing her skills simply because she was my daughter rather than being my son."

"I often wondered why you changed your mind about sending her on to school. At one time, you seemed very determined that there was no reason for her to continue."

Rajeev shook his head in wry amusement. "That was before I met the Sultan. He has very strong opinions on the role of women and their value. He made it clear to me that with my daughter's academic record, if I did not send her on to school that he would see to it that _Bangalore_ did, nor would he tolerate her being forced into marriage. I will be honest with you, Vijay. Until that time, I had my doubts about whether Hadji Singh had the strength to be Sultan of this country. The audience I had with him over the issue of my daughter's future removed any reservations I had. That young man has his father's charisma and forceful personality as well as an intelligence that can leave your head spinning."

Vijay looked at him oddly. "Strange. I was under the impression that Haresh Singh was rather placid." Rajeev opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again, looking suddenly flustered. Vijay's gaze sharpened and he said, "You _were_ talking about Haresh, were you not?" When Rajeev did not answer immediately the other man said softly, "No, I do not believe you were . . . you were talking of the Sultan's _American_ father, Dr. Quest. How is it that you know him, Rajeev?"

"I had the opportunity to meet him once," Rajeev said hastily. Looking up he continued quickly, "It is getting late. It is a long trip back and you do not want to be missed."

But Vijay was not going to be put off that easily. "How did you meet him? I know that he has not visited here since the marriage candidate reception that was held last spring. And you did not meet the Sultan until then." Rajeev could literally see the man's mind working. "Your daughter is attending school in the United States . . . and was admitted at the last minute. That means that she required a sponsor. Who is sponsoring Kefira in school, Rajeev? Would I be wrong to guess that it is the Sultan's American father?"

Rajeev sighed in resignation. "No, you would not be wrong. Benton Quest is her sponsor."

Suddenly, Vijay's eyes began to sparkle as his deductive reasoning took him further and further. "That means that the Sultan has taken a special interest in the welfare of your middle daughter. I also remember that the Lady Neela was determined that her son would take a wife and provide the country with an heir, which was the reason for the marriage candidate reception that brought you to the palace last spring. Your eldest daughter, Daria, was presented as a candidate at that reception, and I know that many people were convinced that she would end up being the Sultan's wife. But the next thing we knew, the Sultan had returned to America, Daria was married to the only son of the Rafiq family, and Kefira was gone . . . off to engineering school in the United States . . ."

"Vijay . . ." Rajeev said in a warning tone, trying to distract the man's quick mind. But there was no stopping him now.

"The Lady Neela has already announced that a wife has been chosen for her son, but no name has been released . . . supposedly to allow the girl time to become adjusted to the idea of her new role. But that has nothing to do with it at all. Kefira is the girl the Sultan has chosen to marry!" His open grin mirrored his delight with the idea. "Tell me I am wrong!"

With muttered curse, Rajeev looked around frantically and then dragged Vijay back down the hall and into the study again. Shutting the door, he turned to the younger man urgently. "Not of word of this, do you understand? To anyone!"

"But why? This is just the thing the people need right now . . . it is a positive sign . . . a happy thing that will lift spirits. Surely we can use this . . ."

"Think about it, Vijay!" Rajeev continued in the same urgent tone. "What are the rules concerning the future wife of the Sultan?" Slowly, the man's smile dimmed. "Hadji refuses to declare Kefira as his future wife _because_ of what would be demanded of her if he made it known. He insists that she have the choice in this matter and he will not tie her to him without giving her the chance to consider it with care. He has said very clearly that if, after being given time to consider the effect this will have on her life, she decides she does not wish to be Sultana, he will not force her to do so, nor will he demand her life in payment for her refusal. He is also determined that she be given the chance to earn her degree and work in her chosen field if she so chooses. If her name becomes public she will be forced to give up all of this, and even then marriage to the Sultan may be denied to her."

"Does she wish to marry him?" Vijay asked, the gravity of the situation finally becoming clear to him.

Rajeev shook his head, complete bemused. "My middle daughter has never been interested in the opposite sex. Her entire focus was always on the idea of running the family business . . . until she set eyes on that young man. Do you know, Vijay, I never believed in love at first sight. I thought it was a ludicrous idea . . . until my daughter looked at Hadji Singh. I do not believe I have ever seen any couple as much in love as those two are . . . other than Hadji's younger brother and his girlfriend, perhaps. The strength of the feelings among those four young people is like nothing I have ever seen. I have to say that it gives me faith in the future. To risk that . . ." He shook his head again.

"Then I will say nothing," Vijay said quietly.

"Thank you."

Vijay shook his head. "There is no thanks necessary. I have known your family for many years. I know Kefira, although obviously not as well as I now wish I could have known her. You are a family of honor, and just knowing that a woman of her quality will be wife to the Sultan is enough for me." Rajeev nodded thankfully. "Now, I must go. Will you speak to the Sultan about this matter?"

"Yes, be assured that I will. Go with God, my friend." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"You must calm yourself, Excellency," Arun Birla said quietly. "There is no need to become this agitated."

"But to have said such a thing in open Council session! It was a deliberate insult. . . ."

"Perhaps that is not how he intended it. Mr. Patel is a man highly dedicated to the causes he believes in. He also takes his nomination to the Council by the Sultan very seriously. You cannot blame him for doing everything in his power to fight for his beliefs. His only fault is one of being shortsighted, and we both know that is often a failing of the young and the inexperienced."

Neela sighed and turned back to the man sitting on the divan along the wall in her office. "But what do we do now? I cannot ignore his demand to involve my son. He has forced the issue. And I also promise you that in this, Hadji will support his position. We have argued this point many times and he still firmly believes that the burden of taxation should lay with the wealthy and with business. He says that there is too much wealth concentrated in the hands of too few people and that there must be a way found to provide more to the poorest of our people." Wrapped up in her own thoughts, Neela didn't notice the flash of anger that crossed her companion's face at that comment. "In theory, I agree with him, but still . . ." She turned back to Birla. "I know we have discussed this many times, Mr. Birla, and you have made me see that placing such a burden on the economic base of our country is not wise, but can we not find _some_ way to come to a compromise that will serve both interests?"

Birla rose and turned to gaze out of a nearby window. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. "If there is one, Excellency, I do not see it. We have never been a wealthy country. We are not large and much of the land we do have is mountainous and of little commercial value. A few families have found a way to make a living in mining, but even that is not in precious metals or gems, as in some parts of India, so it does not provide a strong revenue base. And what arable land we have must be used to grow crops to feed our people, so we have no way of turning farming into an economic venture. Unfortunately, that leaves little else other than the beginnings of the technological industries that we have been cultivating in Bangalore City. To stifle that growth by taxing it will ensure that they fail, taking the country's revenue base with it."

"And yet, those few who control those industries are extraordinarily wealthy, Mr. Birla," Neela responded with a sudden show of spirit. She gestured at his expensive clothes and jewelry. "Is it so wrong to expect that those few should share with the less fortunate? My son believes passionately in this. I have watched him work with his own two hands to clean out pestilence-ridden hovels and to build clean, safe shelters for the poor in the most poverty-ridden corners of this city. And I have ridden with him into the countryside and watched him argue with villagers over the practice of killing newborn daughters. He _believes_ that there is a fair way to change this situation. Surely we can find some way to begin this change . . ."

"Your son is an idealist, Excellency. He has been raised among wealth and privilege. It is often hard to see the realities from that lofty vantage point."

"But he has not always had that kind of life," she pointed out to him stiffly. "Please recall that for a number of years my son _lived_ in those poverty-stricken streets . . . often being forced to steal simply to feed himself. Had he been caught doing that, the price exacted from him is one I cannot even bring myself to consider. And all of this, at a time when Vikram lived in the lap of luxury and had scores of people murdered, simply to amuse himself." Neela shook her head firmly. "No, Mr. Birla, there must be a way to come to some form of compromise on this issue."

The man sighed again. "Then perhaps, Excellency, Mr. Patel is right. It is time for the Sultan to return and provide some guidance. I have fought against asking him to come home because I know that he is so strongly devoted to completing his education." Birla observed the pale woman surreptitiously, and her flinch was obvious as he added, "I also know how much pain it causes him to be forced to leave those that he considers family. But his country needs him now. As difficult as it will be for him, I believe we must convince him to forego his education for a time and return to deal with the issues at hand before the unrest reaches the point where revolution erupts in the streets."

"What?! What are you talking about?" she demanded

"I am sorry to be forced to tell you this, Excellency," the man said gravely, coming to her and taking her hands in his. "But the people are becoming increasingly restless. They question why the Sultan refuses to remain here . . . why he leaves a regent to run the country while he remains in the United States. And they question why he has not married and provided an heir, particularly in light of the fact that an impending marriage has been announced."

Neela jerked her hands from his and turned away in agitation. "I still do not understand how the fact that Hadji had chosen a future wife became known! Those few of us that knew were so careful . . ."

"Yes, Excellency, but you know the way palace gossip spreads. I tried to trace the source personally but was never able to do so. The best I could discover was that the newspapers had been told it came from 'an official source from within the palace'. No one seems to know more than that. We can consider ourselves fortunate that the girl's existence is the only thing that was leaked. If the girl's identity were to become known, along with the knowledge that she is presently living outside of the country among strangers . . . " He shook his head. "I must once again insist, Excellency, that we find a way to bring her back here and install her safely in the palace where the propriety of her surroundings can be ensured."

"I have tried!" Neela cried. "But my son will not listen. He insists that the old tradition of isolating the girl until the wedding is outmoded and 'stupid', and he refuses to subject her to that treatment. He is determined that she will get the education she so desperately wanted and then be given the free choice to decide if she will marry him once she has had that opportunity."

Birla shook his head slowly. "It is unacceptable, Excellency. If she is allowed to pursue this course, the Council will be forced to refuse her as an acceptable wife. Certainly, she can become a part of his harem, but to father the heir to the throne . . . it simply will not be permitted. You must make him see this. He must either return the girl to this country to isolate her until he is prepared to marry, or he must choose another young woman to be his wife and father the heir, and maintain the Subramanian girl as his mistress."

Neela sank onto the nearby divan, as though exhausted. "I have tried," she replied sadly. "You do not know how hard I have tried."

Birla was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "Then perhaps it is time we make the urgency of the need clear, Excellency."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, a shade of fear on her face.

"I would suggest the we bring some leverage to bear . . . "

"He will not . . ."

"Not against the Sultan, Excellency. If he will not understand the gravity of the situation, perhaps it is time to attempt to make it clear to Ms. Subramanian."

"What are you thinking, Mr. Birla?"

"That it is time Ms. Subramanian's family pay another visit to the palace. Perhaps once they are here, she may decide to join them and be convinced to stay."

"My son will not like . . ."

"It is for the long-term good of both your son and the country, Excellency. You do not want the unrest to continue to build until the people become so unhappy that they strip him of the throne, do you?"

That thought brought real fear to her face. "No," she whispered. "No, that cannot be allowed to happen." Finally, she nodded in defeat. "I will consent to this, Mr. Birla, but only after I have tried one last time to get my son to send his future wife home of his own accord. If he still refuses, then we will talk of this again."

He bowed deeply to her. "As you wish, Excellency." The man backed respectfully out of the room and closed the door behind him softly, leaving her alone. As he turned from the door to take his leave, the self-satisfied smile that formed on his face was not a pleasant one.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

  


"I must say, this is not quite what I imagined your apartment would look like," Hadji told his brother doubtfully. "It is rather . . . overdone . . . is it not?"

The two of them stood in the middle of the living room surveying their surroundings. Jonny grinned. "What? You think that white French Provincial isn't us?"

"Well . . . no." Hadji reached down and ran a thoughtful hand along the arm of the sofa. It was similar to the rest of the furniture in the room . . . heavy, intricately carved wood in pure white with accents of gilt. The chairs, sofa and love seat all had clawed feet, straight, formal backs, and padded floral tapestry seats in shades of rose and blue. There were also three matching end tables and a coffee table in front of the sofa. Two Tiffany lamps, white lace curtains, and floral throw rugs on the hardwood floors completed the decor. Even in a room as large as the one they stood in, the furniture seemed to dwarf it.

Jonny laughed. "You should have seen it before we took down the pictures of the rural French countryside."

"Do I remember you saying that the apartment came furnished?" Hadji said hopefully.

Jonny waved him to a seat with a grin. Tossing him a pillow, Jonny grinned, flopped down on the sofa, and put his feet up, being careful to avoid putting his shoes on the upholstery. "Yeah, it did. And for all that the furniture is just awful, you can't beat the deal. Do you have any idea what two bedroom apartments in this town rent for?"

"If it is anything like New York, it is probably high," Hadji replied, stuffing the pillow behind him and squirming in an attempt to get comfortable.

"Sky high . . . when you can find them at all. Most people end up living in one of the outlying suburbs and commuting an hour or more in to work. And finding one this large is a virtual impossibility."

"How did you locate this one then? And how can you afford it?"

"Through the grace and helpfulness of new friends," Jonny replied thankfully. "If it hadn't been for Dr. Sikes, we'd probably be living in a one room efficiency somewhere out on the far edge of the city."

Hadji raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Dr. Sikes? The M.I.T. professor that was at the party last night?"

Jonny nodded. "He's been really great." Jonny shot a wary look at his brother and then said carefully, "I don't know how much you talk to Dad about Jess and I . . ."

The tone of Jonny's voice caused Hadji to straighten and glare at his brother. "What? You do not trust _me_ now?" 

"No, that's not what I meant! It's just that . . . "

"That is _exactly_ what you meant," Hadji retorted.

Jonny sat upright and swung his legs back to the floor so he faced Hadji squarely. "Look, it's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I know how much you care about Dad."

"What does that have to do with anything? You make it sound as though I do not care about you!"

"Damn it, Hadji, would you quit putting words in my mouth! This is hard enough to explain as it is!"

"Then stop trying to find a nice way to say what you mean and just come out with it. We can worry about taking offense later."

"Okay, fine. I don't trust Dad. And I'm afraid that if he gets really sick or he's seriously upset, you might let something slip that could get anyone who helps us into trouble. Is that blunt enough for you?"

"Do you really believe I would do such a thing? Or that Father would retaliate against someone who has helped you?" Hadji questioned, looking troubled.

Jonny sighed and rested his head in his hands. "I don't know what to believe any more," he said, sounding disheartened.

Hadji gazed at him for a moment, then leaned forward intently and said, "Jonny . . ." Hadji paused, waiting for Jonny to respond. Finally, he said, "Jonny . . ."

"What?" he said, still refusing to move.

"I want to ask you something and it is important."

Finally, Jonny looked up at him. "What is it?"

"Are you happy?"

"Am I what?" he repeated, looking startled.

"You heard me. And do not give me a hasty reply. _Think_ about it."

"What are you getting at, Hadji?" Jonny asked him.

"I want to know if you are happy here, doing what you are doing. Is this what you expected? Are you sorry you decided to defy Father and go your own way? You do not need to be afraid that I will betray anything to Father . . . or to Race and Estella. I just want to know between us . . . brother to brother . . . are you happy here?"

Jonny's gaze dropped and he sat hunched, his elbows on his knees, staring at his clasped hands as he considered Hadji's question. Was he happy? And was it all that he expected? Finally, he said quietly, "It has been harder than I ever imagined it would be. You know, we've never lacked for anything . . . if one of us told Dad that we wanted something, we generally got it. Now, I have to make choices because I can't afford everything that I want." He chuckled ruefully. "And the next time I see Mrs. Evans, I swear I'm going to come with candy and flowers. I _know_ that I never appreciated everything she did for us until Jess and I had to start doing them for ourselves. I've decided that I hate housecleaning!" Then his smile faded and he sighed softly. "And there are times when I go two or three days and never have the chance to sit down and actually talk to Jess. She's asleep when I get home and she's gone before I wake up again. That's probably the hardest thing of all. I miss just being able to spend time with her . . . to talk and laugh together. I miss being able to travel, I miss having a car, and I miss being able to do what I want whenever I want." Suddenly, he looked up and stared Hadji straight in the eyes. "But you want to know something, Hadji? I wouldn't trade it for anything. I don't know that I have ever felt so free, or enjoyed my life more. I love this job. For the first time in my life, I honestly have something of value to offer . . . "

"That is not true!"

Jonny shook his head. "Yes, it is. Look, I'm not saying that Dad didn't appreciate my help. I know that he did. And I also know that a good deal of that was just the opportunity to be able to spend time together. We were luckier than most kids, you know? We really didn't have to share Dad with other obligations much, because he made it a point to share his time and his work with us. We were always a part of everything he did. But being a part of something like that because he wanted to include us is a whole lot different than making a significant contribution in your own right."

"But you always made a contribution, Jonny," Hadji insisted. "There were many times when projects could not have been finished if you had not assisted."

"You're missing my point, Hadji. I'm not saying that I didn't help, but it wasn't anything that any semi-trained high school student couldn't have done. Here, things are different. Here I _do_ make a difference . . . a real contribution that no one else at the company is able to do. I'm not included because of who I am, but rather for the skills I have to offer. That's something I've never experienced before and it feels . . . really good. And when I do have free time . . . like at the party last night . . . I have a real sense of having _**earned**_ the right to enjoy myself. I wouldn't go back now for anything. Can you understand that?"

Hadji looked at him for a long time. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Yes I can, my friend. And it is all that matters. I want nothing more than to know that you are happy, Jonny . . . you and Jessie, both. If you have found that here, then I am content. I just want you to know that if the time comes when you find yourself unhappy, in need of someone to talk with or a place to go, you can come to me. I will never repeat anything you tell me to Father, or to Race and Estella. The most I will ever say to them is simply this . . . that you are doing well and are happy." Jonny smiled and nodded gratefully. After a moment, Hadji leaned back in his chair again and said, "You were telling me about how you found this apartment."

"Dr. Sikes knew about it. Our downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, is his great aunt. The woman who lived in this apartment also owned the building. I guess she was from old money . . . one of the pre-Revolutionary War blue bloods. But she was the end of the line and had no family. She finally sold the family home over in the historic district and bought this place as something to keep her busy and to provide some income of her own. In the end, the tenants in the building became her family. Some of them have been here for close to 70 years. When she died, she left the building jointly to the tenants, and all the money was tied up in a kind of a trust to help them maintain it.

"All of the tenants are older . . . I think the youngest is Mr. Dreyffus and he's in his early 60's and the oldest are Mr. and Mrs. Markham down on the first floor. They're both 94. Originally, they had a management company that was taking care of the place . . . you know, general maintenance, mowing the lawn around the building, repairs, that sort of thing . . . but the jobs just weren't getting done. It was Dr. Sikes that finally lost his temper over it and convinced Mrs. Taylor and the others to fire them. But that left the building with no maintenance personnel. About that time, I contacted Dr. Sikes and explained that Jess and I were looking to move to the city. I asked him if he knew of anyone who might be looking for a programmer and would be willing to take a chance on me. He's a professional consultant to the company, as well as being a close personal friend of Garrett Blackman, and it was on his recommendation that Mr. Blackman interviewed me for the job."

"Ah, I see. I remember you said that someone you had met gave you the lead on the job." Hadji grinned. "I also noticed that you made it a point not to say who that was."

Jonny snorted. "Yeah. Dad noticed, too. He's asked me a couple of times since who found me the job."

"But you refused to tell him."

"Under the circumstances, would you?"

"No, probably not."

"At any rate, Jess and I were in the city about two weeks before graduation. She needed to drop some paperwork off at M.I.T. and then we were going to do some apartment hunting. While we were on campus, we went by Dr. Sikes' office to let him know that I'd gotten the job and to thank him for his help. He asked what we were going to do for a place to live and when we told him we were there to start looking, he told us about this place. He explained that the residents had agreed to let him try to find someone that would live in the building and take care of it. They figured that if the person who took care of the place also lived here, they'd have a vested interest in doing a good job. The deal was that we would provide maintenance services in return for drastically lowered rent. So that's how we ended up here. The furniture came with the place. For all that it's pretty awful, Jess says that all of it is antique and is probably worth a lot of money. So we live with it and take care of it right along with the rest of the building."

"It does appear that everything just seemed to fall into place," Hadji observed.

"Karma, man. What can I say?"

Both of them were laughing as the sound of a key in the lock brought Jonny to his feet. Crossing quickly, he unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

"Oops, sorry," Jonny said, as he and Jessie scrambled to grab the bag of groceries that she had wedged against the door.

Hadji jumped up and crossed swiftly to take one of the bags that Kefira carried.

"Thank you," she gasped, laughing. "It is a long way up here from the first floor with our hands that full.

"The elevator's down again?" Jonny asked resignedly.

"Naturally. It's the weekend, isn't it?" Jessie agreed in disgust. "At least this time no one is stuck on it."

"Well, I can't figure out what the problem is. Like it or not, we're going to have to call in a repair company. Any possibility they work Saturdays without charging double time?"

Jessie shrugged. "Got me. Worth calling around to find out, I suppose. I've put an out of order sign on it and I stopped at each of the apartments on the way up to let everyone know that if they need help getting anything upstairs this weekend, they should call us."

"Sounds good," Jonny replied, flipping quickly through the yellow pages. He was about to reach for the phone when it started to ring. He grabbed a pencil and circled a number as he picked it up. "Hello?" His head came up sharply in surprise as he exclaimed, "Dad! Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm at home," Benton replied. "And yes, I'm fine. Shouldn't I be?"

Immediately wary and not wanting to get in the middle of an argument, Jonny replied quickly, "No, of course not. I just thought you were supposed to be in Britain this weekend."

"I was, but plans changed. I need to ask you, is Hadji there?"

"Yeah, he and Kefira are here for the weekend. You need to talk with him? He's right here . . ."

"Not necessarily. Just let him know that his mother is trying to reach him. She just called here asking if I knew where he was. I told her I'd try to track him down."

Jonny glanced over at his brother. "Neela's trying to reach you," he said to his brother. Hadji grimaced and then nodded. "Hadji says he'll call her, Dad."

"Good." There was a long pause. "So how are you?" Benton finally asked.

"Just fine. Keeping busy."

"How's the job going?"

"Really well," Jonny replied, his voice warming slightly. "They gave me an award on Thursday."

"An award? What for?"

"My department was given the company excellence award for our performance during the last six months, and they gave me a special recognition thing for having helped with several projects that weren't my responsibility, but that I volunteered to work on anyway."

"That was nice of them," Benton said with a notable lack of enthusiasm. "What was the award . . . a plaque?"

"Yes," Jonny said, sounding suddenly subdued. "A plaque, a trophy for the department to display, and a cash bonus. They also gave me two tickets for a cruise to the Bahamas in January for the special recognition."

"The Bahamas! In January? But what about . . ."

"Don't say it!" Jonny said dangerously. "We've been through this before, Dad, and I don't want to hear it anymore."

"Well, someone has to say it!" his father retorted angrily. "You have no business being out in the workforce at your age. You belong in school. I should have had better sense and brought the three of you along at the same pace as other kids your age, rather than always treating you like adults . . ."

"Oh, so now you figure you should have stinted my education just to keep me at home longer? That's just great!"

Hadji moved quickly as both men's voices began to rise. Reaching out, he snatched the phone out of Jonny's hand, interrupting the escalating argument. "Give me that," he said sharply.

Jonny jerked away, relinquishing the phone with a snarl. "I'm going to go check the damned elevator!" Crossing, he yanked open the door and stalked out. Jessie looked from Jonny's retreating back to Hadji and then ran out the door.

Watching them go, Hadji sighed. Then, into the phone, he said, "Father? Father, calm down. This serves no purpose. Both of you promised Dr. Mason that you would try to avoid arguments of this kind."

There was a tense silence on the line for a long moment. Then Benton sighed. "All right. Yes, you're right. I'll try . . . I'm just concerned about him, Hadji. And this business of giving him a cruise to the Bahamas? He's never going to go back to school if they keep doing things like that . . . and you can bet that they know it, too!"

"Father, they gave him that trip because he _earned_ it. He has been working very hard. If you would just allow yourself to see beyond his decision not to go on to school immediately, you would be extremely proud of him. He is doing an outstanding job and those he works for are very pleased."

"It's not that I doubt that he's doing a good job, Hadji. It's not in Jonny's nature to do anything halfway . . ."

"Then tell him that! It would mean so much to him."

"And imply that I'm starting to accept his decision? I can't do that!"

"You are both completely hopeless!" Hadji snapped, the control on his temper slipping. He regretted it almost immediately as he heard Benton gasp. Hadji rarely raised his voice in anger, and to the best of his knowledge he had _never_ done so to his adopted father. The last thing in the world that Benton Quest needed right now was to fear he might be alienating _both_ of his sons. "You told me something once, Father," he said quietly. "You said that you did not care what I did with my life as long as whatever it was made me happy . . . that you were repaid for any kindness you showed me if I could do that. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Does the same apply to Jonny?"

"Of course!"

"Father, I swear to you . . . he is happy. More happy than I have seen him in a very long time. I know that you are worried because he is not in school and that he is living here with Jessie, but if you will just give him some time to find himself, I know that it will work out."

"Hadji, I'm trying. I really am. And when I talk with you or Race or Barbara, it all makes sense, and I promise myself that I'm not going to push him about it any more. But then I start talking to him and one thing leads to another and the next thing I know, we're both arguing again. He's so touchy. He takes offense at anything I say or do. And if I need to reach him, the only number I have is this one. If he's not home . . . which he usually isn't . . . all I can do is leave a message and wait for him to call me back. Do you know, I don't even know _where_ he works?! He won't tell me."

Suddenly, Hadji felt indescribably weary. Yes, he knew. He knew why, too . . . and so should their father. "Do you blame him?" he asked softly.

"No . . . no, I suppose not," Benton replied miserably. Then in sudden desperation, "But I would never do it again, Hadji! He has to know that!"

"I understand, Father, but you can hardly blame him for being cautious. You knew how he felt about his relationship with Jessie, and you knew how miserable he becomes when they are separated for long periods of time, and yet you attempted to interfere. Dr. Mason warned you that it would take time and effort to rebuild what you had lost."

"But he's not giving me a chance!"

"His relationship with Jessie and everything that affects it is the single most important thing in the world to him," Hadji reminded him. "You cannot expect him to put _that_ on the line as one of the incremental steps toward rebuilding the mutual trust the two of you used to share. And, Father, there is one thing that I would point out to you . . ."

"What?"

"He knows that if you were that determined to know where he works, that you could find out . . . probably without that much time or effort. The fact that you have respected his wishes not to do so has not escaped his notice and it _has_ made a difference."

"All right. I'll take your word for it."

"Another thing. If you ever need to reach him, you know you can always reach me and I know how to locate him."

"Of course you do. He trusts _you_."

"Father . . ."

"No, Hadji, it's all right," Benton said with weary bitterness. "I deserve it. It's my own fault. Rachel would be incredibly disappointed in me right now. I'm glad she's not alive to see what a mess I've made of this."

Hadji stiffened, alarm bells going off loudly at the tone of his father's voice. "Where are you, Father? At home?" he demanded. "Where is Race?"

"He's around here somewhere," Benton replied dispiritedly. "I don't suppose Jonny is anywhere around there any more. Tell him I'm sorry, Hadji. And tell him I'm proud of him, too, if you think it will help."

"Father!"

"I better go. You take care." The resounding click in his ear sounded extremely final. Muttering a heartfelt Hindi curse, Hadji pressed the quick disconnect and began dialing the instant he got a dial tone. After a few interminable seconds, the connection was made and a pleasant, female voice responded,

"QUEST COMPOUND. HOW MAY I HELP YOU?"

"IRIS, this is Hadji. Let me talk to Father, please."

'I'M SORRY, DR. QUEST IS UNAVAILABLE AT THE MOMENT."

"It is important, IRIS. Just tell him I am calling back."

"I AM SORRY, HE WAS VERY SPECIFIC IN HIS DESIRE NOT TO BE DISTURBED BY ANYONE."

"All right, then let me talk to Race."

"MR. BANNON IS NOT AVAILABLE AT THIS TIME."

"Estella?" Hadji asked, starting to feel frantic. Had his father gotten sick again?

"I'M SORRY, DR. VELASQUEZ- . . ."

". . . Bannon is not available at this time," he finished for her in frustration. "IRIS, is there _anyone_ there in the house I can talk with right **now**?"

"NO, THERE IS NO ONE AVAILABLE AT THIS TIME. I WOULD BE HAPPY TO TAKE A MESSAGE AND FORWARD IT TO ONE OF THE FAMILY MEMBERS AS SOON AS THEY BECOME AVAILABLE."

"Is Father all right, IRIS? Is he in the house?"

"AS FAR AS IT IS POSSIBLE TO ASCERTAIN AT THIS TIME, DR. QUEST IS FINE. HE LEFT THE HOUSE A FEW MOMENTS AGO TO GO FOR A WALK ON THE GROUNDS. I BELIEVE HE IS OUT ON THE BLUFF ABOVE THE BOATHOUSE AT PRESENT."

"He is **WHERE????**" Hadji shrieked, starting to sweat. What was he _doing???_

"HE IS . . ."

"Never mind!" Hitting the disconnect button, he turned to Jessie, who was just coming in the door again. "Do you have Dr. Mason's number?" he demanded frantically.

"It's speed dial #2. What's happened?" she said, running to him.

"I do not know, but something is not right. I cannot . . . Nicki? Nicki, this is Hadji Singh. Is Dr. Mason there? I need to talk with her right now. It is extremely important. Yes, I will wait . . . I cannot get _anyone_ to answer at home," he said to Jessie, picking up where he left off. "IRIS just keeps saying that no one is available and will not even attempt . . ."

"Hadji?" a warm, feminine voice said in Hadji's ear.

"Dr. Mason! I think something has happened at home. I was talking with Father and he cut the conversation off abruptly and now I cannot reach anyone at all. I do not know what to do."

"Slow down. What do you mean, he cut the conversation off?"

Swiftly, Hadji summarized the conversation. "When I tried to call back, IRIS refused to let me talk with anyone . . . not even Race or Estella." He concluded. Pausing suddenly, he said hesitantly, "Although, perhaps they were not there. I did not ask that specific question . . ."

"They're there," Barbara replied with conviction. "Just stay calm. I'll go out there right now and see what's going on. Where are you?"

"At Jonny's."

"All right. Stay put. Either Benton or I will call you back as soon as I see what's going on."

"Dr. Mason, IRIS said Father was out on the bluff above the boathouse . . ."

"I'll call." And then she was gone.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Barbara Mason gritted her teeth and fought to correct the skid as she turned hard and rocketed onto the road to the Quest Compound. She fumbled at the latch to the storage compartment at her elbow as she pressed the accelerator to the floor once again. _What are you doing, Benton?_ her mind screamed over and over as she groped for the device that Race had given her a few months before. Just as she rounded the slight bend on the access road and the gate came into view, her searching fingers closed around the small, black box. Pulling it out of the storage compartment, she aimed it at the gate and pressed the button on its surface. Immediately, the gate began to swing open. Shooting through the opening with little more than half an inch to spare, she continued her headlong charge toward the main house. The tires squealed as she slammed on the brakes and came to a jarring stop on the circle drive. Leaping from the car she sprinted to the front door and began pounding on it loudly.

"Benton! Race!" She was just about to head around to the back, when the door swung open to reveal a very startled Race Bannon.

"Barbara!" he exclaimed. "What in . . ."

Shoving him aside, she barged into the entryway, demanding, "Where is he? Is he all right?"

"Who?"

"What the hell is going on?" came an answering voice from behind her. She swung around to find Benton Quest coming through the dining room toward her. "Barbara, what in heaven's name . . ."

"Are you okay?" she demanded, moving toward him anxiously.

"Of course I'm okay. Why do people keep asking me that question today? What . . ."

In the wake of the relief at seeing him safe, the adrenaline hit Barbara's system and her temper exploded. **"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!!?!"** she yelled at him.

Both men eyed the beautiful, dark haired woman like she was an alien. "What did I do?" he protested.

"What did you say to your son?!?" she demanded fiercely, her fists clenched tightly against the shakes that were threatening to overwhelm her.

"To Jonny? We argued . . ."

"_**NOT **_Jonny. To Hadji! He called me, downright panicky. Said you cut him off in the middle of a conversation, sounding extremely strange. And when he tried to call you back, IRIS wouldn't let him talk to any of you. She told him you were out on the bluff above the boathouse . . ."

"I went out for a walk . . ." Benton began, sounding bewildered, but trailed off as the implication of what she was saying finally sank home. "He thought I was out on that bluff to . . ."

"He didn't know what to think, and he was scared to death!"

"What the hell made him think I'd even _consider_ doing something like that?" Benton demanded, starting to sound angry himself.

"I don't know. You tell me! Something caused him to worry, obviously." She breathed deeply, struggling to slow her frantically beating heart. "What was the last thing you said to him?"

Benton scrubbed at his beard in agitation. "I don't know. I don't remember. I'd been arguing with Jonny again and he jumped into the middle. We talked for a while about Jonny and the situation between the two of us. I remember I complained about the fact that Jonny won't tell me where he works and that there are times I can't reach him when I need him. Hadji said that if I needed Jonny, I could always call him because he always knew how to get in touch with him." Benton faltered. "I . . . I was . . . upset at that," he admitted. "I think I knew it, but . . ." He shrugged. "Suddenly, I didn't want to talk to anyone any more, so I said goodbye to him, told him to tell Jonny I was sorry, and then told IRIS I didn't want to be disturbed and went for a walk to clear my head."

"What's all the yelling?" a new voice asked. All of them turned to see Estella standing in the entrance to the back hall clutching a robe around her.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Race demanded, crossing to her swiftly. "You shouldn't be up!"

"I heard shouting. Is something wrong?"

"No, just a tempest in a teapot," Barbara said, moving to her quickly. "Come on, let's get you back to bed." She shot a stern look at Benton. "Call your sons. _Now!_" The two men followed Estella and Barbara back down the hall, stopping to watch as Barbara supported Estella through the door of the Bannon suite.

"I'll be right there," he told them and then turned to Benton. "What the hell happened, Benton? Hadji doesn't panic. You said something else . . . something you didn't want to tell Barbara. You must have, to set him off like that."

Benton shrugged helplessly. "I honestly don't know, Race. I was upset, but I really didn't think there was anything that untoward about the conversation."

Looking grim, Race stuck his head in the door of his quarters. "Barbara, do you need me?" he called.

"No, we're fine," her distant voice replied.

Turning back to the older man, Race caught his arm and began leading him toward the study. "Come on. We're going to get to the bottom of this." The two of them went into the study and closed the door. Race gestured Benton to the chair and then hiked one hip up on the edge of the desk and reached for the phone. It was answered almost before it began to ring.

"Dad? Dad, is that you?" Jonny's agitated voice demanded.

"No, it's Race."

"Where's Dad? What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing! Slow down . . . he's fine. Where's Hadji? Can you get him on the line, too?" Race could hear Jonny directing his brother to the phone back in the bedroom and a moment later a loud click on the line heralded his arrival.

"I am here. Where is Father? What has happened to him?" Hadji sounded as upset as Jonny.

"Nothing has happened to him. Both of you calm down. Now Hadji, I want you to tell me what happened." Once again, Hadji outlined their conversation. Finally, with a glance at Benton, he said, "So it was his comments about Rachel that really upset you?"

"Yes," Hadji agreed. "That and how depressed he sounded and how abruptly he ended the conversation. Then when I tried calling back immediately and IRIS would not allow me to speak with _anyone_, no matter what I said, I became seriously concerned. _Then,_ when I asked if Father was all right and IRIS told me he was out along the bluff above the boathouse . . ."

"What was he _doing_ out there?" Jonny demanded angrily. "That place is dangerous. He could get killed!"

"A point he tried to make to _**you**_ often enough, as I recall," Race replied dryly.

"Yeah, and you saw what happened to me!"

"Let me talk to them, Race," Benton demanded, stretching his hand out for the phone.

"Hang on a minute, guys." Race covered the mouthpiece of the phone carefully and gave Benton a warning look. "They are both seriously shaken, Benton. Don't chew them out for being worried about you."

Benton nodded brusquely and gestured imperiously for the phone. Race handed it over. "Jonny? Hadji?"

"Dad!" "Father!" the two responded in chorus. Demands about his welfare and what he was doing out on the bluff all but overwhelmed him. Over the sounds of their questions, he could hear the twin raised voices of Jessie and Kefira in the background, demanding to know what he was saying, and behind it all was the deep, reverberating barking of a large dog. Benton held the phone away from his ear and looked at Race in astonishment.

"I told you they were upset," Race said.

"I'd guess," Benton replied, warmth suddenly washing through him. Putting the phone to his ear again, he raised his voice and called, "Wait! Stop. I can't understand a word any of you are saying!" The tumult suddenly stilled until all that was left was the continued sound of the dog. Then, in the distance, he heard three loud thumps and Kefira's voice yelling, "Shut up, Magnus!" and then there was silence.

"Dad?" Jonny said hesitantly.

"I am _fine_," he said firmly. "I simply went out for a walk. There is no reason for you to be concerned."

"I'm sorry I upset you," Jonny said, still sounding shaken. "I didn't mean to get angry . . ."

"I know, son. Neither did I. But I promise you that I'm fine. And I want both of you to understand something very clearly. I am _**not**_ suicidal. Whatever possessed either of you to think I might be?"

There was an uncomfortable silence and finally Jonny said hesitantly, "I guess it's just that . . . well, things have changed so much, and . . . "

"We are worried about you, Father," Hadji said. "It is not easy, being so far away when there is the possibility that you may not be well."

"And you're jumping at shadows," Benton said resignedly. "Listen to me, both of you. I know that we've been having our problems. But no matter what happens, we are still a family. I love both of you very much and no matter how much trouble we have, I know that we will find some way to work things out. I am not going to go out and throw myself off of the bluff or anything equally as stupid. Okay?"

"Okay," Jonny agreed.

"Yes," Hadji said. He hesitated for a second and then plunged on. "Father, we are sorry that we jumped to conclusions, but you must know that we only did so because we care for you as much as you do for us. You understand that, do you not?"

"Of course," Benton replied. "I never doubted it."

"Then for the sake of our peace of mind . . . because we are so far away and not there to look after you . . . will you do something for us . . . all four of us?"

"Whatever you want . . . just name it."

"Cooperate with Dr. Mason," Hadji said.

"Yeah," Jonny jumped in. "Take any test she wants you to take, see any doctor she wants you to see."

"Let her find out what is wrong so that it can be taken care of."

"But there is nothing wrong with me!" he protested loudly.

"Then allow her to prove it," Hadji said firmly.

"It would make all of us feel a whole lot better, Dad. Please . . . " Jonny wheedled.

"Please, Dr. Quest," Jessie urged from the background and Benton heard Kefira's voice chime in as well. He sat there, feeling a warm sense of exasperation wash over him. Their frantic concern and insistence that he follow Barbara Mason's instructions were like a balm on some raw part of his soul. A sharp knock caused him to look up just as the door opened and Barbara entered.

"You are all just determined to box me in over this, aren't you?" he said resignedly.

"We are concerned, Father."

"No, we're worried sick," Jonny said flatly.

"Okay, okay. You win." He glanced up at Barbara, who was watching him closely. "I promise. I will do whatever she wants me to do and will work with her until she is satisfied. But when she proves that there's nothing wrong with me, you will _**both**_ owe me . . . big time."

"Deal!" Jonny said enthusiastically.

"Dr. Mason is there now?" Hadji questioned.

"Yes. She's been listening in and heard me promise you. Trust me, her expression tells me that she is having no trouble following this conversation and that she knows she's won. I have no doubt that she will begin setting things up as soon as I get off the phone."

"Very well. We should probably let you go then. You will make sure we know what is going on?"

"Yes. Barbara knows that the two of you are to be kept totally in the loop."

"Thank you," Hadji said, as Jonny echoed him. They both sounded extremely relieved.

"Call your mother, Hadji. She sounded extremely anxious to contact you."

"I will do so as soon as we finish," he promised.

"And Jonny . . ."

"Yeah, Dad?"

Benton took a deep breath and then said, "Son, I want you to know how proud I am of you. I didn't mean to sound like the award you got at work wasn't special. I know you and I know how dedicated you are when you devote yourself to something. The people you work for are incredibly lucky to have you. I just want you to know that I didn't mean to sound like I wasn't proud of your accomplishment."

There was a startled silence before he stuttered, "Th . . . thanks, Dad. I couldn't have done it if it hadn't been for you and everything you taught me."

"No, Jonny. All I did was give you the opportunity. You were the one who took the effort to learn it and put it to use. Now you better go. Hadji needs to use the phone."

"Okay. You will talk to Dr. Mason right away?"

"Yes, right now."

"Bye, Dad."

"Goodbye, son." Leaning forward, he set the phone on the desk and looked up at Barbara Mason with a resigned look. "All right. What do you want to do? I've promised them I'd give you free reign. Just try not to make it too painful, okay?"

Her enthusiastic reply sounded so much like that of his sons that Benton couldn't help but grin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

  


"Will he do it?" Jonny asked his brother anxiously when Hadji reappeared from the back of the apartment.

"He will do it," Hadji replied confidently. "He has promised now and he knows that Dr. Mason will tell us if he does not cooperate with her."

"What happened?" "What did he say?" Jessie and Kefira were demanding. The two young men explained and when they finished, Jessie heaved a grateful sigh.

"That's a relief," she said. "He won't back away now . . . not if he's promised both of you. And _she_ won't let up until she figures out what's going on. If there's anyone I know who rivals Dr. Quest for stubbornness, it's Dr. Mason."

"Amen to that one!" Jonny replied fervently.

"Well, I'm gonna put groceries away. You guys want anything?" Jessie asked.

Jonny shook his head and Hadji said, "No, thank you. I must call my mother."

"You're welcome to use the phone in the bedroom if you want," Jonny offered.

"Thank you. Hopefully, this will not take long."

Kefira watched him leave the room with a troubled look.

"Problem?" Jonny asked her softly, standing at her shoulder and following her gaze.

She shrugged and shook her head. "I hope not."

Catching her by the hand, Jonny led her over to the sofa and drew her down to sit beside him. "Give," he ordered. "Tell me what's going on."

For a long moment, she sat staring down into her lap sightlessly. Jonny could almost feel her struggling with something. Then, as if making a decision, she looked up at him and he saw fear lurking in her eyes. "Things are not good in Bangalore, Jonny. In fact, I believe they are very, very bad."

"Bad how?" Looking up, he gestured at Jessie. "Leave that and come here, Jess." Tossing some stuff into the refrigerator quickly, she came and sat down beside the two of them to listen intently.

Kefira gestured helplessly. "I cannot be certain. Neither Hadji nor my father likes to worry me, so I believe they say much less than they know. But I can tell that Father is very concerned, and Hadji has been extremely irritable and uneasy in recent weeks. I do know that things have gotten bad enough that my father is making decisions that seem to me to be very defensive."

"Like what?" Jonny asked.

"Physical or business defensive?" Jessie queried at the same time.

"Both," Kefira replied. "Over the past several months, a bandits have been raiding the homesteads in the northern areas of our country. There has always been a problem with this sort of thing, but it has gotten much worse recently. May family has a number of mines in that region, so many of the people affected work for my father. Also, there have been attempted break-ins in several of our northern mines. At first, Father suspected it was for the cash on-hand because the attempts occurred right before the men were due to be paid. But it continues to occur and the new incidents don't seem to relate to times when there would be money on the premises."

"How often has it happened?" Jessie asked.

Kefira shook her head. "I am not sure, but I do know that it has happened in almost half of our locations . . . once at the mine closest to home." She looked from one of them to the other. "You must understand, Father does not know I am aware of how extensive the problem is. He has only mentioned one or two episodes to me. But in talking with Mother and my sisters, I have found out about the other incidents." She grimaced. "Daria, in particular, delights in telling me about them. The last time I talked with Mother, she told me that Father has taken to arming the foremen in all of the mines."

"Sounds to me like someone's got a grudge against Rajeev," Jonny commented.

"There is more . . ." Kefira sighed. "How much has Hadji told you about what goes on in Bangalore?"

"Not much," Jonny replied. "He just doesn't seem to like talking about it. I know that he's been pretty tense the last year or so, and I've tried to discuss it with him, but . . ."

"No," she said sadly, "he does not like to talk about it. He tries very hard to keep his life in Bangalore separate from his life here."

"Why?" Jessie demanded. "Doesn't he realize that we want to help if we can?"

"He knows that." Kefira sighed softly. "How do I explain this? Dr. Quest, you and Jonny . . . you are his haven . . . the place where he feels safe and happy and where he is truly content. To involve you in Bangalore's problems . . . it is like allowing it to taint the one place where he is happy, and he fights very hard to prevent that. He will not admit it, even to me, but he hates Bangalore, and dreads going there. He despises being Sultan, and nothing his mother can do will ever change that . . . no matter how hard she tries."

"It's not who he is," Jonny said quietly. Both women looked at him in surprise. "I've known Hadji for a long time. And I think it's safe to say that I know him better than anyone alive, even Dad. I certainly know him a whole lot better than Neela does. Hadji loves being a scholar . . . a researcher. I don't care who his real parents were, Hadji is Dad's son . . . heart and soul. Their interests are the same and so are their goals and aspirations. Hadji is more like Dad than I've _ever_ been. I've wondered for quite a while now how much longer he can keep this up."

"I am afraid that the decision may be taken out of his hands," Kefira said.

"Is he in trouble, Kefira?" Jessie demanded. "Is that it? Has he gotten into trouble because he wants to stay here?"

"They do not like the fact that he spends so much time away," she acknowledged reluctantly, "no matter what reasoning he uses to explain it. But it is more than that." She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I have learned in the last several months what the term 'politics' really means in Bangalore, and it comes down to one thing . . . power. It is a game of who can get the most of it. Goods, wealth, and power are both the goal and the tools to achieve status. His advisory council was formed when he first came to power. Unfortunately, he did not know the people and neither did the Lady Neela."

"Wait a minute," Jonny interrupted. "Neela had lived there all her life. How could she not know the people?"

"But remember, she had spent almost twelve years locked in the palace dungeons before Hadji freed her. Under a man like Vikram - who tended to favor one person until he became bored, then executed them and moved on to someone else - that was a very long time. Lady Neela had a great deal of influence with Hadji in selecting his council and she leaned toward the old families that she remembered from when her husband ruled. But time and circumstances change men . . . particularly under someone like Vikram. Very early in his reign, he destroyed the true men of quality and principle, leaving only those he could really understand and control. And Vikram himself understood only the lust for power and greed, so he surrounded himself with men of like temperament. It did not take Hadji long to realize that the selection of many of these men had been a mistake and he has been slowly trying to correct it. Little by little, he has been removing the more difficult or dangerous members and putting younger men who are loyal to his goals for the country in their place." Kefira signed again. "Unfortunately, the Lady Neela has fought him."

"But why?" Jessie demanded. "Surely she understands the need to have people with the same goals advising Hadji."

Kefira reached up and rubbed her eyes wearily, and Jonny laid a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Right now, the single biggest problem that Hadji faces is his mother . . . both personally and in term of ruling the country." She flashed a small smile at Jonny, but it held no humor. "You are not the only one struggling to cope with a difficult relationship with a parent, my friend."

Jonny swore softly. "He and Neela are still at it?"

"Oh, yes. Worse than ever before. She wants him back in Bangalore permanently, and I believe she resents all of you because of his attachment here. It is not rational, but that does not make it any less true." She hesitated briefly, looking at Jonny. Then she continued, "When you and your father first began to have difficulty and Race called Hadji and I to come home, we searched to find the root causes of the conflict between the two of you."

Jonny looked at Kefira in surprise. "I thought the causes were pretty clear," he commented. Both Jonny and Jessie were surprised when Kefira shook her head.

"No, I do not believe they were as clear cut as you seemed to feel they were. You have always believed that your father's actions were a direct response to the depth of your relationship with Jessie. I do not believe that is the case."

"How do you know?" he demanded sharply. "What do you know that I don't? And why haven't you told me?"

Jessie put a restraining hand on Jonny's arm as Kefira shook her head. "I have not told you, Jonny, because it is largely intuition on my part . . . that and being in a position to observe what has gone on, both in your family and in my own. That Race and Estella tend to agree with me does not mean that my suppositions have been confirmed as fact."

"So tell me what they are and let me judge for myself."

"I believe that the situation back in March was driven much more by Dr. Quest's own insecurities and fears than they were by your actions. You have said that you knew that your father was not ready for the realities of your relationship with Jessie, but I do not believe any of us realized just how deeply it would affect him."

"I don't understand," Jonny complained. "What possible fears could he have that would have caused him to do something like this?"

Kefira looked at him steadily. "Jonny, what normally happens when children grow up?"

"They fall in love and get married. So?"

"And what else?"

"They have kids."

"And what else?"

Jonny shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. What are you getting at?"

"What have _I_ done, Jonny?"

"You've gone away to school," he replied impatiently.

"I've gone _**away**_ to school."

"Yeah, and . . ." Suddenly, he stopped and his eyes widened. "You're saying he was afraid I would go **away**?"

"Leaving him alone," Kefira agreed. "Remember all that he had just been through . . . the assumption of your death, the attack on Race and Estella, the near-disaster with Hadji . . . and all of that on top of facing the psychological stress of finally letting go of your mother. Jonny, you and your father are very, very much alike in many ways. He responds to the idea of being separated from you much the same way you respond to being separated from Jessie. The reaction is the same . . . only the _actions_ are different. I believe that on top of everything else that had happened to him in a very short span of time, this last revelation simply overwhelmed him. I think that at one time he probably envisioned a life where the two of you were grown and working with him at Quest Enterprises . . . maybe with Hadji and Jessie working with him at research and you running the operations of the Quest empire. He had already been faced with the realization that Hadji would never be able to do that . . . not with his commitments to Bangalore having to come first. But suddenly in March he discovered that you were much more of an adult than he had realized."

"And he found out about it in the worst way it could have possibly happened. I should have told him," Jonny said remorsefully. "He never should have been forced to find out about Jess and I like that."

"Yes, you should have . . . just as Estella told Race. But it was more than that, Jonny. It was also your reaction when you found out what he had done."

"He had to expect me to be angry!"

"Of course he did. But do you realize what the _**extent**_ of your anger did?" Jonny shook his head. "It confirmed his deepest fears. You and Jessie had plans for your future . . . plans he knew nothing about . . . and, therefore, by inference . . . plans that did not include him."

"That's not true!" Jessie objected. "They always included him! We always planned to come back to Quest Enterprises."

Kefira smiled sadly. "A follows B, but that does not necessarily mean that B caused A. He jumped to conclusions, and he was so tired and stressed that he could not see that the conclusions he jumped to were based on faulty logic. People are like that."

"Oh God, we've made such a mess of this," Jonny groaned.

With an effort, Jessie returned to the original point of the discussion. "But I don't see how that pertains to Hadji."

"It is much the same thing. Neela had visions of her son's future, and those goals kept her alive and fighting for all of the years she was kept imprisoned by Vikram. When Hadji returned and freed her, those dreams spread before her like a glorious reward for all of her hardships. For a while, things between them were wonderful."

"Until she began to realize that Hadji wasn't the son she expected him to be," Jonny said softly.

"No," Kefira corrected him. "Hadji was more than she had ever imagined. Just as you were to your father." Kefira sighed softly. "I am told that Hadji's father, Haresh, was a good man . . . a good ruler who truly cared about his people. Hadji's love of scholarship is an inheritance from his father . . . Haresh was a placid, studious man who was very happy spending time in the library or puttering around out in the countryside. My father tells me he was a naturalist by choice and used to love to walk the hills outside Bangalore City looking for interesting plants. It was Neela who had the head for politics and the two of them made a formidable team. Unfortunately, Haresh ruled during a time of relative peace, and it was his lack of political savvy that was his undoing. He was very trusting, particularly of the members of his extended family, and nothing Neela said would convince him that his brother was a threat to him. In the end, that trust caused his death, the imprisonment of his wife, and Hadji's incorporation into your family."

Kefira was silent for a moment, marshalling her thoughts. Finally, she continued. "When Lady Neela began to realize that Hadji's hopes and dreams ranged far beyond the boundaries of Bangalore, she reacted much the same way your father did to the evidence that you were growing up . . . she tried desperately to find ways to lock him into the future she envisioned for him and, as a result, they fought. She put pressure on him to do things her way and she constantly demanded that he return home permanently. She simply refused to accept that he has no desire to rule the country he was born to. The pressure she has put on him has been considerable."

"Why hasn't he told us?" Jessie asked sadly.

"Because he felt there was nothing we could do," Jonny replied in the same tone. "He told me that at Christmas . . . I just didn't realize how bad it really was."

"And now I believe it has gotten even worse." She nodded toward the bedroom door. "I do not like the fact that she was determined enough to talk with him today that she called Dr. Quest in an effort to locate him." Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around her midriff and they could both see her shiver.

"Hey," Jonny said in concern, putting an arm around her shoulders.

She looked up at him in desperation. "I am afraid, Jonny . . . so very afraid! There is a man. He is very dangerous, I think, and I believe he is very much like Hadji's cousin, Vikram. He wants power and he is greedy and I do not think that he will stop at anything to get what he wants. Right now, Hadji stands in his way. And I do not know what to do . . ."

Jessie and Jonny exchanged alarmed looks. If there was anything they had learned about this young woman in the short time they had known her, it was that she had an instinct for people and situations. If the situation was bad enough to upset her this much . . . Suddenly, in the distance, all of them heard the sound of Hadji's voice raised in anger.

Jonny's expression turned grim. Patting Kefira's shoulder gently he said, "Don't worry. I've always covered his back and this time won't be any different. I won't let anything happen to him. Quick, before he gets his fill of it and hangs up, tell me about this man . . . the one you think is a threat."

Glancing up the hallway to the back of the apartment, Kefira said swiftly, "His name is Arun Birla and he is a powerful man of great influence. He is presently the Bangalorian Ambassador to India, as well as the head of Hadji's Advisory Council. He also controls much of the export business from Bangalore. His charges for freighting merchandise are outrageous, but those people who have tried to find other avenues of export have found their businesses mysteriously undermined." Kefira shook her head. "My father has been in negotiations with him over export tariffs for stone from one of our mines near the northern border. It is quicker and cheaper for us to take the stone directly north, but that bypasses Mr. Birla's export routes. About ten months ago, an avalanche closed the high pass of the only road leading northward through those mountains."

"Closing off your northern export route," Jessie guessed.

"Yes. Not long before I came here for Christmas, Father appealed to the Advisory Council for funds to clear and rebuild the road."

"Let me guess," Jonny said. "Birla buried the request."

"No, it went before the entire Council for a vote, but Father said that it was resoundingly voted down. The results of the vote made no sense! It was in the best interests of many of the people who voted against the reopening of the road to have it done because of the large amount of traffic it always carried. And at that point, it would not have cost that much to do."

"At that point?" Jessie asked.

Kefira looked from of them to the other. "Shortly before the vote was to come before the Council, I went up to look at the damage. Father does not about know this, you understand. He would have been furious with me if he had, because this was right around the time that the problem with bandits began to occur. There were roving bands of them in the northern mountains and several small homesteads had been attacked. The families had been robbed and at least one girl had been raped. So I went without telling him." Jonny looked angry but Jessie nodded.

"It needed to be done."

"Yes. I went by horse through the countryside since it seemed the bandits were staying fairly close to the roadway. I saw several groups of them from a distance, but managed to avoid them. When I got to the site of the avalanche, I looked around very carefully. Several things struck me. The first was the strange location of the rockfall. You both know that if there is one thing I know, it is the geology of Bangalore. Regardless of what my Father believes, I am a miner . . . I understand mining and how to assess the lie of stone beds and the dangers associated with mining them. There should _**not**_ have been a rockfall in the location it occurred! I would swear to it. There were any number of other, more likely places for a fall, but this was the only location where a fall would have closed the road. But for some reason it happened in that particular place. Another thing . . . there was no apparent trigger for the fall. If one of the higher, more precarious locations had broken away I would not have thought too much of it. But for a relatively stable place like the one that gave way to have broken loose would have required something to trigger it . . . a lightning strike or an earth tremor."

"Or dynamite?" Jessie asked grimly.

Kefira nodded unhappily. "I looked for evidence of blasting, but another group of bandits entering the area forced me to move on, so I could not be certain. The final thing that convinced me it was no accident was the road surface itself. It was not badly damaged. Yes, large boulders had rolled over it and there were many of them on the road itself, but the pavement surface was not cracked or broken. It would have been a simple thing to clear the debris, reinforce the upslope, and open the road again."

"I don't understand . . ." Jonny said her when she stopped.

She sighed once more. "Two weeks after my trip to the site, my Father led a group of people there to inspect the damage. When he got there, the road was _gone_ . . . about 200 yards of it was totally destroyed."

"Birla had it eliminated to ensure that the northern route couldn't be opened again," Jonny said in a soft, dangerous voice.

"I cannot prove it, but I believe that is what happened. This is the kind of man he is. And he has the Lady Neela totally under his influence. She relies on him heavily and supports the programs he advocates without reservation. The Council . . . and the people of Bangalore themselves . . . are becoming polarized. There is little middle ground for compromise any longer. I believe he even had thoughts of using me again Hadji." She told them about Neela and Birla coming to her family's home right before she left for the United States.

"That's the reason you stayed and went directly into school," Jonny said with conviction. "He wouldn't allow you to be put where you might be at risk."

"Yes."

Again, they heard the sound of Hadji's raised voice. This time it was followed by the distinct sound of the phone receiver being slammed back into the cradle. Swiftly, Jonny said, "Don't say anything to Hadji about any of this, but I want you to be sure to let me know if anything happens between Hadji and Neela once the two of you go back to New York." He looked at her solemnly. "And I don't want you to worry, Kefira. One way or the other, I'll make sure nothing happens to him."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Hadji was feeling almost lighthearted as he waited for the connection to go through to the royal palace in Bangalore. Everyone had been extremely concerned about Benton and knowing that he had finally relented and would be actively searching for the cause of his recent bouts of weakness was a relief to all of them. When the phone answered, Hadji identified himself and asked that his mother be notified that he was on the line. In a very short time, Neela picked up on the call.

"Hadji?" she queried.

"Yes, Mother," he replied, promising himself that he would hold his temper this time. "Father said you were trying to reach me."

"I wish you would not call him that," Neela replied irritably. "Dr. Quest has been very good to you, but he is not your father!"

"We are not going to have this conversation again, Mother. Do not even attempt to start it. I got your message. What is it that you want?"

There was silence for a few heartbeats and then Hadji heard Neela sigh deeply before she said, "The issue of taxation was taken up in the Council again today. The debate went on for nearly three hours with no appreciable progress. We have tried very hard to find some form of compromise, but are having no success. A number of the Council members have now called for your intervention in the matter."

"I do not intend to pass an edict on this issue. It is necessary that the people who must pay this tax, support it. They need to feel as though they had input in the decision, and that it is the best solution it was possible to find."

"It is not the place of the people to question the decisions made by their Sultan. I have told you this before, Hadji. This country is not a democracy . . . it is a Sultancy . . . ruled by one man. These people are accustomed to accepting the demands of their ruler. It is your role to make those decisions!"

"And I have done so, Mother. I have decided that it is in the best interests of everyone in Bangalore that the people have a much greater say in the decisions that affect them. As long as our people are conditioned to accept edicts from a single ruler, they are primed to be taken advantage of and mistreated, just the way Vikram did. Whether they like it or not, the people of Bangalore are going to learn to govern themselves. Only then will they be in a position to prevent the rise of monsters like my cousin."

"Such fine, high-sounding ideals," Neela said bitterly. "It is a shame that the truth is so much less noble."

"What do you mean?" Hadji demanded, his temper stirring in spite of his attempts to remain calm.

"This has much less to do with a sincere desire to do what is best for the people of Bangalore than it does with searching for a way to get out of your responsibilities to them. If you can find a way to shift the responsibility for ruling the country to someone else, then you are free to do what you wish."

"Enough, Mother," he replied dangerously. "I do not shirk my responsibilities, nor will I. But I will govern as I see fit . . . as you have so often pointed out is both my right and responsibility."

"Then do it!" she demanded fiercely. "Come home. Bring the girl you have chosen to be your wife, marry her, and rule . . . according to the traditions of your people . . . before it is too late!"

"Do **not** tell me what to do, Mother!" Hadji said, his voice rising sharply. "Particularly when it comes to Kefira. Your defiance of my instructions when it comes to her have come perilously close to being treasonous already. Do not push me further."

"What do you mean," she responded shrilly.

"Did you really believe that she and her father would not tell me about your little visit to her home? 'Come to take her to the palace for a brief stay.' How long would you have required that she stay, Mother? A week? A month? Or would you simply have refused to allow her to leave at all?"

"I have only tried to follow tradition . . . to ensure that she will be acceptable as a wife when the time comes!"

"She is already more than acceptable! Locking her away for weeks, months, or years will not make her more so. Do you think I would not marry her tomorrow if I believed that doing so would take the pressure from her concerning these stupid traditions? You give me so little credit, Mother! I may not have been raised to your so-vaunted traditions, but I am not an idiot. I checked to see what she will have to do once she is my wife. If possible, what will be expected of her once she is my wife will be even more regressive than what you want for her now!"

"It is not a bad life," Neela said fiercely. "I lived it for years before your father was murdered and was perfectly happy. And if she learns propriety, she can have a tremendous influence through you."

"Well, it is good to know that I will be taking up a new career," Hadji replied sarcastically. "I suppose I should arrange to change my major as soon as possible since I know absolutely nothing about granite mining. If she is to pursue her goals through me, I have a great deal to learn!"

"Do not treat me in this fashion," she said in fury. "You may be Sultan, but I am still your mother and I expect you to treat me with respect!"

"Respect is earned, Mother. I would suggest that you would do better to try to earn mine rather demanding it as your right and then defying my instructions at every turn!"

"I will consider doing so the day you decide to accept your responsibilities to this country to act like a ruler! Providing you have a country to rule by the time you make that decision. With the rising sense of revolution, I am beginning to doubt that will happen before everything descends into chaos."

"Enough, Mother!"

"Your current behavior and refusal to return here permanently is leading this country straight down the road to revolution."

**"SILENCE!"** he lashed out loudly. The ensuing quiet crackled with animosity, but Neela did as he commanded and kept silent. Finally, in a tightly controlled voice, Hadji said, "You did not call simply to harass me over subjects we have gone over time and again. What did you want?"

"I told you," she said in an angry voice. "Your Advisory Council is calling for your presence to mediate the taxation dispute. Vijay Patel himself asked that you be summoned."

That stopped Hadji. If Vijay was asking for him things must be very bad indeed.

"I will look into the matter," he said finally.

"Are you saying that I am lying about the situation?" Neela asked him in cold fury.

"No," Hadji snapped back. "I am saying that I do not believe that I fully trust you not to use such a situation to your own purposes. And I mean that both in terms of what you want as well as those you seem so determined to support."

"I am not . . ." she began in a voice shaking with emotion, but Hadji cut her off.

"You are partisan, Mother, and have been for quite some time. Not only have I seen it with my own eyes, but I have had reports of it from innumerable different sources. You no longer listen with an open heart and mind to the opinions of all concerned, and you are too easily swayed by men who advance issues that favor their own interests over that of the people they should be representing."

"That is untrue! I support those issues that I feel will benefit Bangalore. Yes, sometimes those positions are unpopular, but I am always looking to the best interests of our country."

"Yes, but you make a distinction. You look to the best interests of the 'country' . . . a fine, abstract concept. But that concept tends to gloss over the more ugly results of those policies. Allow me to give you an example. Approximately one year ago, the hot issue before the Council was a tariff designed to discourage the import of cheaper parts from foreign suppliers. The local businessmen were strongly in support of that tariff . . . largely because a number of them manufactured similar parts. The goods these parts went into were also manufactured here . . . one of our few large industries . . . and the foreign competition was cutting into profit."

"I remember," Neela replied coldly. "I also remember that after a long, hard fight, that tariff was approved . . . much to your displeasure . . . and our manufacturing base has grown as a result, bringing more jobs and more revenue to the country."

"And I remember, as well," Hadji said with equal coldness. "I remember that virtually all of that supposed revenue went into the pockets of Arun Birla and his cohorts. And the new people that were added to the manufacturing processes were added into existing facilities, which were already woefully over-extended, and in less than six months one of those factories had a major industrial accident that killed close to 100 workers. I also remember that it was less than two weeks after that incident that Arun Birla advanced a motion to the Council for the government of Bangalore to fund the rebuilding of the factory at a new location, citing the need of the owners to maintain the capital the company already had to pay the workers once the new facility had been built. Oh, and let us not forget that the tariff turned out to have much more far-reaching repercussions than Mr. Birla had anticipated when he supported it so strongly. The European Commonwealth, the single biggest importer of stone from our mountains . . . our single _biggest_ industry . . . had been in open negotiations with the Chinese over trade issues. When the Chinese appealed to the Europeans for relief from what they considered to be unfair trade practices, the Commonwealth slapped a tariff on the import of our stone to any European Commonwealth country, cutting the profit margins of an already overstrained, high overhead industry. And the end result of _**that**_ was a starvation problem in the rural areas because the drop in profits required the mines to lay off or cut salaries of the workers. So do not talk to me about looking out for the best interest of the country, Mother. I do not want to look out for the general . . . I want to see to it that the _**people**_ do not suffer as a result of our decisions. On that score, my current Advisory Council has a very poor record."

Neela didn't respond, maintaining a frigid silence. Finally, Hadji continued, "I will look into this matter as soon as Kefira and I return to New York and then . . ."

"Return?" she exclaimed sharply, interrupting him. "What do you mean, return? Where are you now?"

"Kefira and I are visiting Jonny and Jessie."

"In Maine?" she snapped, the sudden tension in her voice causing it to vibrate slightly.

"No. I have told you before. Jonny and Jessie no longer live in Maine."

"And you are staying with them?"

"Of course. Where else would we be staying?" Hadji said, starting to get irritated again.

"You must leave there immediately!" she exclaimed. "What were you thinking, taking your future wife there?"

"What are you talking about? There is no reason I should not bring Kefira here. Jonny is my brother and Jessie is Kefira's best friend . . ."

"It is a totally inappropriate place for her to be! It is bad enough that she is seen with Jessie Bannon in public, but to stay in her home? You **must** leave immediately, and you must never go back!"

"Why?" Hadji questioned in a soft, deadly voice that should have been a warning, but Neela was too agitated to catch it.

"Because you cannot put the woman you have chosen as your wife into that kind of improper situation. It will taint her reputation, and . . ."

_**"STOP!!!!"**_ Hadji had never known anger like the fury that filled him in that instant. His voice thundered in the empty room and even through the telephone lines, Neela could feel the force of his rage. "How dare you say something like that about my brother and the woman who is the closest thing I have to a sister? What they share is real and the fact that they do not have a piece of paper saying that society blesses their union does not make it any less so. You have no right to pass moral judgment on them."

Steeling herself, Neela held her ground in the face of her son's fury. "I have every right - as well as an obligation - to do so when it comes to the moral reputation of the woman who will be Sultana of this country. It is my _job_ to ensure that she is above reproach, and whether you like to admit it or not, the lifestyle that your brother and his girlfriend lead is not acceptable moral behavior. I still cannot believe that Benton Quest allows such a thing!"

"Do not **DARE** . . ."

"This is the end!" she snapped harshly. "You _will_ put a stop to this nonsense this instant. You will leave Jonny Quest's house as soon as you hang up this phone, and you will return to New York. On Monday, you will withdraw Kefira from school . . ."

"Mother, I will not tolerate . . ."

Neela overrode his protests like a steamroller. ". . . and put her on a plane back to Bangalore. I will talk with the Indian ambassador and make arrangements for suitable escorts to accompany her back here. She will be picked up at the airport and brought directly back to the palace where she can be safely installed in the women's quarters. Her training in the proper behavior for a Sultana will begin immediately, so that when you finally decide you are ready to come back to this country permanently, she will be ready. At that time, the marriage ceremony can occur. Hopefully, this incident will have done no lasting damage."

_"Mother . . ."_ he said fiercely, his voice rising sharply.

"On second thought, I will make the travel arrangements myself. That will ensure they are done properly."

**_"REGENT SINGH!"_** Hadji yelled, trying to interrupt her tirade by sheer volume.

"Do not fight me on this, _Excellency,_" Neela said coldly, using his title with heavy scorn. "I have put up with everything else, but this I will not tolerate. If you do not do as I say, I will take matters into my own hands to ensure that the sanctity of the office you hold is not tainted by your continuing behavior. I will call on Monday with the flight information. See that she is ready to leave."

And with that, Neela hung up on him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

  
Barbara Mason ran her hand through her shoulder-length dark hair in frustration. "There's no way you can find _anything_ any sooner than that? Early mornings or late afternoons?" 

"I'm afraid not," the woman on the other end of the line said regretfully. "We're booked solid for the next three weeks. I'd be happy to get you the names of facilities in Boston that can perform the tests you need, if that would help."

Barbara sighed. She could just hear Benton if she suggested that he go out of state for medical tests. He might be cooperating with her, but he was still extremely vocal in his protests of everything she proposed. It was only her own stubbornness that had kept him at the blood tests, physicals, cat scans, x-rays, and everything else she had put him through in the last three days. She was convinced that if she suggested Boston for the full cardiac panel that she wanted to perform next, he would finally balk and that would be the end of it. She had the feeling she was pushing things even trying to get him to Portland. "No," she said reluctantly. "Just give me the soonest opening that you have, and make a note that if you have any cancellations, I want it. It doesn't matter when . . . my patient can come on a moment's notice." _Even if I have to drug him and drag him there bodily,_ she promised herself.

After a few more arrangements, she hung up the phone, picked up the sheaf of test results, and leaned back in her office chair wearily. She scanned through them again, her frustration mounting. She was running out of ideas on what to try next. Every test she had run came back showing that he was in perfect health. His color was good, he seemed to have plenty of energy, and even the exhaustion seemed to have disappeared. But there was a knot in the pit of her stomach that was telling her something wasn't right. The more her tests said he was fine, the more frantic she was feeling. What was more, she had a mounting sense of urgency that she couldn't explain. She'd been concerned about his spells of weakness since she first became aware of them five months ago, and yet he was still functioning normally and, if he was to be believed, had not suffered a problem since the night Jonny left home. Maybe there was nothing wrong, but somehow she just didn't believe it.

A knock on her office door caused her to look up. "Come in!" she called. The door opened immediately and Kathy stuck her head in.

"Race Bannon is here asking to see you."

Frowning, she sat forward and laid the papers on the desk. "Send him back. Who do we have waiting?"

"No one," she replied, shaking he head. "You've got a break over lunch. It's why he's here now. He called earlier and I suggested that he come at this time. You want me to get you a sandwich or something?"

"Maybe later."

"Okay." Kathy disappeared and very shortly another knock on the door heralded Race's arrival.

"Come in, Race," Barbara called.

"Hey," he said, sticking his head in the door. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Not at all. Kathy tells me that I'm officially at lunch now, so come on in and pull up a chair. What's on your mind?"

Race looked a bit uncomfortable as he eased himself down into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "It's about Estella . . ." he said hesitantly.

"What about her?" Barbara asked.

"She's not feeling very well."

"No, I don't imagine she is. I warned you that this wasn't going to be easy."

"I know, I know. Maybe it's just that I didn't really appreciate what you meant by the things you told us, but still . . . " He sighed. "It's a constant battle to keep her in bed and resting, and I think that I'm losing the war."

"She's actively up and moving around?" Barbara demanded in alarm.

"No," Race said grimly. "Not any more. She's learned her lesson on that one, I think. Furthermore, I absolutely won't tolerate it and she knows it . . . not after what happened the first time she pushed it."

"Tell me."

"She spent Thursday and most of Friday sleeping, but by Saturday she'd pretty much slept herself out. I tried to find things to keep her mind occupied, but by that afternoon she was so restless she was climbing the walls. I'd been working in the garage and finally decided I'd better check on her. When I got to our bedroom, I found her missing. I finally tracked her down out in her lab in the lighthouse. She said she was feeling much better and needed to get finished with the borrowed samples while she was still feeling well enough to work. Said she wanted to get them returned."

"I told her -"

"I know you did. So did I. But my wife is notorious for not listening when the advice isn't what she wants to hear. Needless to say, we fought about it . . . a row like we haven't had since before we were divorced. She just wouldn't listen. Finally, I just picked her up bodily, carried her back to the house, and dumped her back into bed." He gazed heavenward. "I can't begin to tell you how furious she was."

"I can imagine." Barbara smiled grimly. "And how thoroughly did she pay for her little excursion?"

"Very thoroughly," Race said, and Barbara saw him shudder. "It wasn't ten minutes after I put her to bed that she started getting nauseated again. She barely made it to the bathroom before it hit. She heaved off and on for nearly two hours, even after there was nothing left in her system to vomit up. Everything I tried giving her just came right back up, including the medication you gave her for the problem. Finally, she just refused to take anything else and rode it out. By the time her stomach finally settled, she was so exhausted and dizzy she couldn't even get up off the bathroom floor. Scared the hell out of me. I almost called you at home."

"You _should_ have called! I would have come out right away. Did you . . ."

"Yes. I followed your instructions and forced her to take as much water as she could tolerate, and finally, when she seemed a little better, I added small amounts of Gatorade to bring her electrolytes back up."

Barbara sighed in frustration. "I know you all feel like you're taking advantage of me when you call outside of regular hours, but you can't let things go like that. If nothing else, call me and tell me what's going on and I'll be the judge of whether or not I need to come out and see her."

"Understood," Race acknowledged with a nod. "And she's promised me that she won't try anything like that again. Unfortunately, she's still bored senseless, so now she's taking a new tact."

"What?" Barbara asked with misgiving.

"She's taken to moving out into the family room and spending the day on the sofa. Says she can't stand being cooped up in the bedroom all the time."

"Well, I suppose I can see that. As I recall, there aren't many windows in your living quarters. Strange, considering how many there are in the rest of the house."

"It was deliberately designed that way. Remember, those rooms were mine before Estella and I got back together again, and much of the security for the Compound is centered there. We have things stored there that we don't want easily accessible should someone try attacking the Compound the way Baxter's people did at Christmas."

"Things?"

Race hesitated briefly and then said, "Weapons, mainly."

Barbara nodded. "I don't suppose there's any way to move her so that she can get some daylight . . . maybe a view?"

Race frowned, thinking about it. "There's a couple of guest rooms upstairs and one of them is right next door to the upstairs bathroom. With the kids gone, it's quiet and relatively private. I could probably move her up there without a problem."

"I'd suggest you do that, then, although I doubt that will stop her insistence on being down in the main part of the house during the day. At least, if she's in the family room, she feels as though she's still part of everyday life."

"What about the stairs, though? Surely going up and down stairs won't be good for her."

"You're probably going to have to help her with those, and eventually, when she gets worse, she won't be able to come down at all. But let's take it one step at a time. When she's in the family room right now, is she lying or sitting?"

"She more or less splits the difference, although she insists that she's staying within your guidelines. That's one of the reasons I'm here. I want you to lay those out for me so I have a better idea of what she can and can't do. She also demanded that a workstation be set up around the sofa. When Benton and I told her she was supposed to be resting and wouldn't accommodate her, she waited until we were off doing something else, and then recruited Matt Evans to help her set it up. She more or less stays reclined on the sofa most of the day, but she continues to insist on working."

"Has she had any more spells like the first one?"

"No. It's the only reason I've let her do it. But it worries the hell out of me." Race leaned forward earnestly and rested his arms on the desk. "What do I do, Barbara? How far do I let her push it?"

"Let's start by seeing how she's doing. I've got a full afternoon, and late office hours tonight, but I'll come out to the Compound tomorrow afternoon and run her through a full exam. She's due for it anyway. Then we'll decide how much of this she can tolerate." Leaning forward, she patted his arm. " I know this isn't easy . . . "

"No, it's not," he agreed. He slumped back into the chair again. "I hate this, Barbara. If I'd had _any_ idea that she was going to have this kind of trouble, I would have seen to it that she never became pregnant again."

"I know," she told him consolingly. "But it's academic now. All we can do is play the cards we're dealt. Let me take a look at her and we'll go from there."

Race nodded, and started to lever himself to his feet. "Thanks, Barbara. I really appreciate it."

Waving him back into the chair, she said, "Don't run off. Since you're here, you can return the favor."

"Name it," he replied, settling back again.

"I need to pick your brains."

"About Benton?" he asked shrewdly.

"Who else?" Her tone was resigned. "I'm sure he's told you that I'm not turning up anything with all the tests I've run."

"Oh yes, he's told us . . . and the boys, too. In fact, he's quite smug about it."

"I'll just bet he is," she said in disgust. Then she looked at the man across from her earnestly. "I don't care what the tests say, Race, something isn't right!" she said stridently. "The fact that I haven't found out what it is yet doesn't mean it's not real."

Race held up his hands as if fending off a blow. "Easy. You don't have to convince me . . . I'm already a believer. And I'm just as worried as you are. I'll tell you something else. I think he's hiding something."

"Hiding something? Like what?" she demanded.

"I'm only guessing," he warned her. "But I think that he may have had a couple more of those bouts of weakness recently."

"What makes you think so?" she queried, leaning forward again anxiously.

He shrugged. "Little things. Like a couple of days ago . . . he didn't come downstairs for breakfast until almost 11:00. When I asked him about it, he said he'd gotten started working in his room and just got involved. He could have, I suppose, but there was just a look to him that made me uneasy. And it's not the first time, either."

**"Damn it!"** she snarled, launching herself to her feet and pacing in agitation. "I just knew it! It's not in Benton's nature to be deliberately deceptive . . . at least not around family and close friends." She spun and glared at her visitor. "Why is he doing this, Race? What does he think he gains by lying to all of us about it? And why, if he's still suffering from this, did he fight me so long and hard about trying to find out what's wrong?"

"I don't think there's an easy answer to that question, Barbara. It's probably a whole host of things driving his behavior . . . not the least of which is denial."

"What do you mean, denial?"

Race Bannon looked disgusted. "You think Estella's a tough patient? Hell, she doesn't hold a candle to Benton. The man _**despises**_ being sick and when it comes to being hurt, nine times out of ten, he'll just ignore it and keep right on going. You practically have to nail him to the floor to patch him up. He simply refuses to let anything stop him. And that may be a lot of the problem. In the past, he's just bulled his way through illness or injury, and he's always bounced back. If I had to guess, I'd say that's a lot of it. He figures that if he just keeps going and ignores it long enough, it will go away."

Barbara stopped in the middle of the floor and hung her head, staring at the floor blindly. After a moment she reached up and massaged the back of her neck, raising her head until it dropped back over her hand. The lines of weariness around her eyes and mouth suddenly struck Race, and he wondered just how much sleep _she'd_ been getting recently.

"He's going to fight me on this next one, Race. I know he is. And if he refuses to take it, I'm out of options. There's no other tests I can do, and all the ones I've done say that there isn't a problem."

"What do you want to do?" he asked quietly.

"I want to do a full cardiac panel . . . stress test, arteriogram, 24-hour EKG monitor, the works. The way it hits him, the sudden weakness, the change in skin color . . . something is screaming 'cardiac' to me. But his blood chemistry isn't off, which is generally one of the first signs of heart attack. And if that's what it is, he should be in pain . . . but he swears he isn't. Surely he wouldn't lie to me about that! I just don't understand it . . ."

"You say you think he'll fight you. Why? He promised Jonny and Hadji he'd do anything you asked of him. What makes you think he'll back down on this one?"

Barbara sighed deeply. "Because to do what I want to do means taking him to Portland . . . or worse, Boston . . . to a specialist and hospitalizing him for about three days. The Medical Center here doesn't have personnel or the equipment for it. You think he's going to take that news well?"

"Going out of the area _and_ having to see a new doctor?" Race thought about it for a while. "No . . . no, I think you're right. He's not going to like it at all. Jonny comes by his hatred of hospitals legitimately . . . if anything, Benton's worse than Jonny is about it. With everything else showing no sign of a problem, I think he'll figure he's given you all the latitude you need and call a halt."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Well, I'm not above applying a little pressure of my own," Race said determinedly. "If he balks, we'll call Jonny and Hadji. He'll be seriously ticked about it, but I think that when real pressure is brought to bear by those two, he'll buckle."

Barbara crossed the room slowly and sank back into her chair again. For a while, she was silent, her head resting against the high back of the chair and her eyes closed. Race was about to rise and leave quietly when, without opening her eyes, she said, "Tell me about his life away from here."

"What do you mean?"

"What does he do when he's not here in Rockport? What kind of strange things happen to him when he's in all of those exotic locales he visits?" Race looked at the woman closely, wondering about the question. There was something in her voice . . . a hint of . . . longing?

"Much the same sort of thing he does when he's around here," Race replied a bit evasively, old habits kicking in automatically. "Largely field research of one kind or another. He loves archaeology . . . something he shares with Estella . . . although he's a bit more esoteric about what he studies. We've been to Easter Island to study the Moai statues, to the deep rainforest jungles of Colombia to investigate an ancient Incan civilization, to Tibet to study relics purported to be Yeti in origin . . . that sort of thing."

"To Cairo to study Egyptian artifacts . . ."

"Yes, there too," Race agreed cautiously, still not sure what she was driving at.

She finally opened her eyes and looked at him, and through the mirror of her eyes, Race could almost see her mind working. "If I can't come at this from the front, then I'm going to have to try for a back door of some kind."

"Huh?"

"Let's assume for a minute that the problem _**is**_ cardiac in some way. Benton's still a young man . . . and he's in outstanding physical condition. The one thing we've learned over the last 50 years about cardiac problems is that they rarely appear out of nowhere. There are almost always factors that contribute to problem. Smoking, excessive drinking, poor diet, family history, undue stress, that sort of thing. So if we're going to assume that it's cardiac . . . for lack of a better scenario at the moment . . . we have to ask ourselves . . . what are the factors that may have caused it. He never smoked; he drinks on occasion, but rarely to excess; his diet is disgustingly good, particularly considering how much you travel; there's no heart problems on either side of his family . . . I know because I've already asked him; his cholesterol is low for a man his age and so is his blood pressure and glucose levels. So what does that leave? Undue stress? Up until the problems with Jonny, I don't really think he'd been under a lot of pressure. In fact, he seems to thrive under it most of the time . . . "

"Actually, as Kefira pointed out to Estella, Hadji and I back in April, his stress levels had been exceedingly high since about November. Work doesn't stress him, but threats to his family do."

"Good point, but even allowing for those and the stresses with Jonny since, I still don't see it being sufficient to cause problems without some other mediating factor. And from what you've told me, the early symptoms of the problem began showing up in December. That's not nearly enough time for stress to cause the problem. What about accidents or attacks? I've doctored each and every one of you for injuries incurred while in the field. Everyone, that is, except Benton. It seems like he never comes home hurt."

"He better not," Race said dryly. "If he does, it means I'm not doing my job very well. Let's face it, the reason the government placed me with this family was to guard Jonny and to see to it that Benton stayed in one piece. Jonny has always been a daredevil and harder to keep track of, so he tended to get hurt more readily. And I've made it a point to try to protect Benton as thoroughly as possible."

"A point," she acknowledged. "So you're saying he's never been hurt or gotten sick on any of the multitude of trips you've taken?"

Race thought about it for a long time. "No, not seriously. Bumps and bangs a couple of times, thumped on the head once or twice, but nothing remotely life threatening. I've always been extremely careful to . . ." He trailed off uncertainly.

"What?" she said sharply, leaning forward to stare at him intently.

"Surely that couldn't . . ."

"Don't hold out on me, Race. Even if it seems farfetched, I need to know if there was something that happened to him that might possibly be causing this."

Race shook his head. "I don't see how it could have anything to do with it, but you did say something about attacks."

"Yes?"

"When Jonny was about 13, Benton developed a sudden concern that he and the boys weren't spending enough quality time together. I remember it struck me as pretty silly, as those boys went with him everywhere and he included them in _everything_." Race shrugged. "But there was no arguing with him about it. So he left me at home and took Jonny on a vacation . . . just the two of them."

"Hadji wasn't included?"

"No. This was right after we'd discovered his mother alive in Bangalore and he'd returned there to get to know her and to spend some time getting used to the idea of being a Sultan. I suppose that could have had something to do with Benton's sudden urge to do some father/son bonding with Jonny."

"Yes, and?"

"So Jonny and Benton took off for a fishing vacation in England. Ended up in this little village in Devon called Wychford."

"I assume there's some significance to this story?"

"Yeah. Turns out, there was this scientist by the name of Smallwood living there. Seems his wife had been killed by a bunch of street thugs and as a result he hated conflict . . . of any kind. In an effort to find a way to make people get along better, he'd developed this computer chip that, when planted at the base of the skull, sent "signals to sooth the savage beast", as it were."

Barbara shuddered. "That sounds awful!"

"It wasn't good," Race agreed. "Aside from making the people bland and totally submissive, he also made the mistake of getting his funding for the project from a rather unscrupulous businessman by the name of Darcy who saw a way to use the chips to create his own personal army and make a ton of money at the same time. The guy found he could piggyback a carrier signal into the chip and when he changed the broadcast frequency he could turn all those placid townspeople into a ravening mob bent on destruction."

"He was hurt trying to defend himself against the mob?" she queried with another shudder.

"Worse. They got one of the damned things onto him. Jonny just shrugs the entire episode off, but Benton was pretty upset by it. According to him, there was one point when he was being forced to chase Jonny in an effort to stop him from disrupting the project. Benton claims he was on the brink of killing Jonny with his own two hands."

"Dear God."

"Nothing holy about what was going on there, let me tell you. Jonny managed to figure out what was happening and got rid of the chip on Benton, and then together the two of them were able to destroy the transmitter controlling the others, but it was a pretty nasty business all the way around. But I really don't see what it could have to do with this."

"You never know," she replied. "Do you have any idea how the chip worked? How it controlled their behavior or what triggered the berserker response?"

Race shook his head. "Absolutely none. You'd have to ask Benton."

Rummaging around on the desk, Barbara found a pad of paper and a pen. Looking at him intently, she said, "What did you say the name of the doctor and the town in England were?"

"The doctor was a guy named Smallwood, but he died in jail a couple of years ago. The name of the town was Wychford." He spelled it for her. "Why? What are you planning on doing?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Grasping at straws? Or maybe . . . just maybe . . . finding that back door I need so desperately."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

  


Hadji was standing in the middle of a crowd of people on the street across from his apartment, when he spotted a long, black limousine attempting to turn the corner a few blocks up. He watched it with idle interest while he waited for the light to change, wondering who would be stupid enough to try to bring a vehicle that size through these narrow, residential streets. After having to back and fill three different times to get around the tight corner, it finally straightened out and began moving toward him. As it drew nearer, Hadji stiffened. Fluttering pennants were mounted on either side of the front bumper and the white, green and orange of the Indian national flag were clearly visible. As he watched, the car drew up in front of his apartment building and stopped. The driver exited the vehicle, opened the back door, and held it as an older, Indian gentleman exited. Even from this distance, Hadji recognized the Indian ambassador. With a ping, the light changed and the crowd surged out into the intersection. Hadji moved across the street with the throng, keeping a wary eye on the man standing on the sidewalk talking with his chauffeur. The ambassador had just turned toward the building again when Hadji came strolling up to him.

"Ambassador Tilak," he said cordially.

The man turned in surprise and then bowed politely. "Sultan Singh. I am pleased to see you again."

"You will forgive me if I say that I will reserve my decision about whether I am pleased to see you until after I discover why you are here."

"I am here at the request of your mother to escort Ms. Subramanian to the airport for her trip back home."

"Then I regret to inform you that your trip has been wasted because Ms. Subramanian has no intention of returning to Bangalore at this time."

"But the Lady Neela said . . ."

"It makes very little difference what the Lady Neela said," Hadji replied sharply. "Ms. Subramanian wishes to get her education here in the United States and I will not tolerate any interference in her ability to do so."

"This is an extremely sensitive issue, Excellency. You risk much by your insistence in this matter."

"I risk nothing as long as my mother understands her place in this matter. Rest assured that I will make all haste to be sure that she does. Now, I believe you should be on your way. This street is too narrow and your vehicle is blocking traffic."

"But Excellency . . ."

Hadji cut him off. "I appreciate your willingness to serve my country's interests, Ambassador, and I assure you that your kindness will not be forgotten."

After a brief hesitation, the ambassador bowed again. "As you wish, Excellency. If I can be of assistance in the future, please do not hesitate to call on me."

"I will remember, and please do not hesitate to do the same if I may be of service." The man sketched a final bow and then returned to his car. Hadji stood on the curb watching the vehicle pull away. When it finally disappeared around the corner further up the street, he spun and strode into the building, fighting to control his rising anger. 

His confrontation with his mother the prior weekend had left him seriously shaken. He could not remember a time he had ever been that angry. It was evident that he had not been able to hide it, either. When he walked back into the living room, Jonny took one look at him and announced that the two of them were going to go try to repair the elevator. Considering that Hadji knew absolutely nothing about elevators, he suspected it was Jonny's way of getting him away from the others and giving him a chance to talk. He hadn't been wrong, because Jonny started questioning him the second they were alone. Jonny meant well . . . he knew that . . . but he had a great deal of difficulty talking about the situation. In the end, Jonny finally gave up and left him alone, but Hadji could tell that he was disturbed by his reticence. And that hadn't been the end of it, either. Jessie was less pushy than Jonny had been, but she also tried very hard to get him to talk about it. And once Jonny and Jessie had retired that night, Kefira started in on him, as well. But he had not been able to talk about it at all . . . not even to Kefira. Certainly, he couldn't bring himself to tell either Jonny or Jessie what his mother had said about Jessie, and he wasn't about to tell Kefira what his mother had demanded of her.

Hadji had come to know Kefira very well in the short time since they had met, and he knew that if she found out about it, she was likely to throw away everything she dreamed of for her own future in an effort to take the pressure from him . . . a sacrifice he was not prepared to allow her to make. So he steadfastly refused to answer any of their questions, just saying that his mother had angered him over a dispute concerning a matter before the council.

He had also called both Kefira's father and Vijay Patel. The news they gave him was even more disturbing. Neela's veiled hints of coming revolution didn't appear to be alarmist. An increase in roving bandits was taking a toll on the people in the rural countryside. Rajeev reluctantly admitted there were rumors floating that someone in the palace was supporting these marauders, but no one had been able to prove that accusation. The result was that anger was rising among the rural populace, much of it directed against the ruling government, although, Rajeev had hastened to add, not against him. In addition, rumors had begun to circulate that the ancient order of the Janissaries . . . the old Sultan's elite guard . . . had reappeared. During his cousin Vikram's rule, the Janissaries had been resurrected and had risen to power for the first time since their destruction in the early 1800's. They had been greatly feared, being the instrument of Vikram's orders and his vengeance. The dissolution of that order had been one of the first things Hadji had done after coming to power. Many of the members had died in the brief fighting that followed Vikram's death, and those that remained had fled the country, fearing reprisal.

As much as he hated it, Hadji had known that there was a need for some form of military for the country. After much contemplation, he had taken a lesson from the ancient Ottoman sultans and reactivated the Sipahi. Once they had been the heart of the Ottoman fighting force . . . the "cavalry" of the Sultan's army. Unlike the Janissaries, whose ranks were created from young children taken from the enemy who were raised and trained as mercenaries loyal only to their employer, the Sipahi were native countrymen who signed on with the Sultan's armies for the promise of their own land grant at the end of their service. Hadji had promised grants of land to any young person willing to sign on for a five year tour of duty in the country's military. The response had been gratifying, and in short order, Hadji had a military force made up of young men and women interested in establishing their own homesteads as well as investing in Bangalore's future. But the resurgence of the Janissaries was further indication that there was someone pushing for a revolution in Bangalore.

His conversation with Vijay Patel had also confirmed another of his suspicions. He had been right to be skeptical of his mother's claim that Vijay had called for his return to Bangalore. The young council member assured him that, while he had called for Hadji to mediate the taxation dispute, he had not called for his physical return to Bangalore. Vijay did warn, however, that Arun Birla had made it quite clear that he felt Hadji should return to Bangalore and had been heard urging Neela on numerous occasions to convince him to do so.

All of this had done nothing more than confirm Hadji's growing suspicions. Even before Admiral Bennett began questioning him, Hadji had begun to believe that the man posed a serious threat. Kefira's story of Birla's actions in her home back in January was not the first report he had heard of the man's skill at manipulating others, but it _was_ the first time that any obvious moves had been made against anyone affiliated with the royal family.

As Hadji unlocked his door, he cursed himself again for being so quick to name his advisory council. Unfortunately, he couldn't just wipe the slate clean and start over. The situation was too polarized and if he made such a move, it would cause a split right down the middle that was guaranteed to ignite the factions into open conflict. Now he had no choice but to tread a razor's edge, juggling all factions in an effort to second guess everyone's plans and stabilize the country before a full-blown civil war could erupt. And with each passing day, he was becoming more and more doubtful of his ability to accomplish that task.

He was thankful that he still had a large number of followers that worked tirelessly to achieve the goals he had established for the country. Chief among these was Rajeev Subramanian. Hadji's chance meeting with Kefira had born more fruit than just a woman to love for the rest of his life. He had also gained an invaluable ally in her father. Rajeev was a sensible man with a deep understanding of the value of Bangalore's richest resource . . . her people. He constantly kept the welfare of those who lived and worked on his property in his thoughts and the lands under his jurisdiction prospered. Accidents were rare in his mines, but when they did occur, the families of those hurt or killed were assured security and aid for as long as it was needed. As a result, his people were fiercely loyal. Rajeev's net of adherents also spread beyond his own holdings, and much of the rural population followed his lead on issues and causes. And because Rajeev Subramanian chose to align himself with the young Sultan Hadji Singh, the rural population did, too.

Hadji might have an Advisory Council, but the truth was that the person he listened to was Rajeev Subramanian. Hadji trusted him above anyone else and generally followed the advice he offered. Hadji had found his advice to be much like the man himself . . . measured, fair, and unfailingly accurate. In fact, it was Rajeev's feelings on the matter that had kept him from returning to Bangalore to try to quell the current problems. His mother might think it was because he was trying to avoid assuming the responsibilities that had been thrust on him with the discovery of his true heritage, but she would be wrong. He had been prepared to return any number of times in the last six months, but Rajeev had been adamantly opposed to that move, telling him that he felt that Hadji's very life would be at risk should he return to the royal palace under the current situation. Rajeev had spoken in such forceful terms that Hadji could do nothing more than accept his judgment. And in light of that, Hadji was not about to allow Kefira to return there to be used as a pawn in whatever game Arun Birla had planned.

Hadji flung his books down on a nearby chair and immediately picked up the phone and began dialing Bangalore. Rather than calling the main number in the palace and allowing someone to summon his mother as he usually did, this time he called directly to her quarters, knowing that at 1:45 in the morning Bangalore time, she was most likely there. The phone was on its fifth ring when Neela picked up and mumbled an incoherent greeting.

"Wake up, Mother," he said coldly. "We appear to have a matter of protocol to discuss."

"Hadji?" Neela questioned. He could almost feel her struggling to try to wake and clear her mind. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Do you have any idea what time it is here?"

"Yes, Mother, I am perfectly aware of the time. However, since I have just been forced to send Ambassador Tilak away without accomplishing the mission you sent him on, I felt obligated to let you know that I had done so." His tone was sharp as a whip and backed by anger as he spat, "Do not _**EVER**_ again summon another government's official ambassador to do your bidding without consulting me. Not only did you inconvenience an important man, but you also made the government officials of both India and Bangalore look like fools. I will not tolerate it, do you understand me?"

"I told you that the girl must return to this country with a proper escort," his mother replied with equal coldness.

"And I told _you_ that I would not tolerate Kefira being turned into a playing piece in the cat and mouse game of Bangalorian politics."

"You are forcing my hand, Excellency. Do not make me do something I do not wish to do."

Abruptly, something within Hadji snapped. Frustration, discontent, and claustrophobic despair clashed with the anger that was so foreign to his nature, and suddenly he was shaking so hard he could hardly stand. With a strangled sob, he demanded, _**"Why are you doing this to me?"**_

Neela's voice caught sharply, horrified by the razor-edge sound desperation in his voice. She was silent for a long moment, listening to her son's ragged breathing on the other end of the line. Finally, in a tone Hadji had not heard from her since he was very small, she said, "Tell me what is troubling you, my son." Hadji sank to the floor, his legs no longer capable of supporting him, as he struggled with the tumult of emotions that he seemed incapable of controlling any longer. Neela waited, giving him time, then said again, "Tell me what it is, Hadji. I promise you, I will listen . . . and hear what you say."

"I am trying, Mother . . . trying to rule as fairly and as capably as I possibly can," Hadji said in a broken voice. Neela winced at the weary bitterness in his tone. "I stay away because it is in Bangalore's best interests that I do so." Neela started to reply, but Hadji cut her off. "No, Mother, you do not know all that you should. You are being insulated and led . . . deceived by those closest to you."

"Hadji, you are not here . . . you do not see all that is going on . . ."

"I know more than you can possibly imagine," he replied, his tone weighted with the despair that knowledge had brought. "You do not know about the persecution of the people outside the city . . . the people who stand against those who actively work to overthrow me."

"No one would dare . . ."

"Not only do they dare, Mother, they also actively search for those who support me in an attempt to coerce or destroy them. You do not know about these, Mother . . . the ones who risk their lives and the lives of their families to ensure that I know what I need to know. And you do not know about the return of the Janissaries, and the fear and hatred their reappearance has caused."

"The Janissaries!" she exclaimed, her stomach clenching in remembered fear and horror, shaken into belief for the first time. "But you banned them . . . over five years ago!"

"I know I did, but it makes no difference. There are those in the palace who have supported their return."

"If you were here . . ."

"I would long ago have gone the way of my father," he replied, his voice flat. The raging emotions had drained away now, leaving him empty and exhausted. "I did the very best I could, Mother, but I have made mistakes and have come to regret them bitterly. I put my faith in people I did not know and they have betrayed me. I now have advisors that I trust . . . men with goals similar to my own . . . who work to ensure the peace and prosperity of all of our people, not just a select few. All I have ever asked for myself is to be allowed to choose my own wife . . . one that I care about and can share a bond that will strengthen both me and our country in the years to come. I found her in Kefira. If I send her home now, she will be used as a weapon against me by my enemies . . . and in the end, she will die. Of all of the things I have endured since coming to power as Sultan, I do not know if I could endure losing her . . ."

Neela closed her eyes, shaken to her soul at the tone of her son's voice. "Why did you keep this from me, my son? Surely you knew that I would have supported you if I had realized the truth."

"Because of all of the mistakes I have made, Mother, the gravest was naming you as Regent. I placed you in the center of my enemies, where any one of them could harm you if they suspected that you had turned against them. As long as we were antagonistic and seemed at cross purposes, you were safe from them . . . a tool they thought they could use. If you were to turn your wholehearted support to me, you would become more valuable dead than alive . . . and I could do nothing to protect you."

"Mr. Birla would . . ."

"Mr. Birla is our single biggest enemy, and has been since the beginning."

Neela gasped. "But he is the head of one of the oldest and most trusted families . . ."

"How much longer will it take you to realize, Mother, that family associations no longer make a difference?" Hadji snapped, the frustration rising once again. "Vikram and his father ensured that! The honorable men of Bangalore's founding families who used to be loyal to my father were executed many years ago. Those who are left are just like Vikram and not to be trusted!"

Neela slumped back in her bed, her head spinning as she tried to assimilate everything her son was telling her. If he was right, the situation was worse than she ever imagined. Finally, she said quietly, "What do you wish me to do?"

"Do nothing. Continue as you have been doing for the last several months, but do not pursue your move to try to bring Kefira home. If asked, tell them that I have refused your directions in the matter and have threatened to remove you from the Council if you defy me. Tell me, Mother, was bringing Kefira home your idea or Mr. Birla's?"

Neela thought about it carefully. "I . . . I am not entirely certain," she said hesitantly. "I have been concerned about her being in the United States. No matter what you may think, Hadji, I have understood that this girl matters to you a great deal, and I did not wish to have anything happen that might prevent her from being accepted as your wife. I have expressed these concerns more than once to Mr. Birla. But which of us came to the decision that she must return and expressed it first . . . I . . . I . . . really do not know. I am very sorry . . ."

"It does not matter, Mother," he said wearily. "All that matters is that she is not put at risk . . . even if, in the end, it means that I cannot take her as my wife. I would sooner be alone for the rest of my life than see her hurt. If I had realized how bad things were going to become, I never would have spoken my heart to her."

"I understand," Neela said softly. "I will do as you ask, my son. Do not fear." She hesitated and then continued, "You should rest, Hadji. You sound very tired."

Hadji sighed and leaned back against the wall. "I _am_ tired, Mother. So very tired. It seems there is nowhere I can go any longer that life is not a trial . . . "

Neela frowned. "Surely your home with Dr. Quest in Maine . . ."

"No. Not even there . . . "

"Tell me what has happened."

What moved him to do so, Hadji didn't know, but in a broken and struggling narrative, he told her about the attack on the Quest family in December, about Benton's rising insecurity at the prospect of his sons' pending departure and the resulting conflict between Jonny and their father, about Jonny and Jessie's decision to defy Benton's wishes and go their own way, and finally, about the family's fears about Benton's health.

When he finally stumbled to a halt, Neela sighed. "I am sorry, my son. I did not realize the amount of stress you have been under. And I am also sorry for my comments concerning Jessie Bannon the other day. You were right . . . cultures differ and I have no right to judge Jonny or Jessie. Who is to say what I might have done if faced with a similar situation. Is there anything that I can do?"

For the first time in a very long time, Hadji felt a sense of peace filter into his soul. "You already have, Mother. You allowed me the chance to talk about _everything_ that has been bothering me. No one person . . . not even Father . . . has known everything that has been going on. It is a relief to be able to tell someone."

Neela smiled, sharing that quiet sense of peace with her son. "I understand. May I make a suggestion?"

"Please," he replied.

"Meditate for a while. In the past, it has always helped you rest and get perspective on the difficulties that you must face. I believe that it will serve you well, now."

"I will try," he promised. "I am sorry that I woke you, Mother. And I am sorry for my poor control of my temper. I do not believe that I have treated you very well recently."

This time, he could hear a touch of real humor in her voice as she replied, "I believe that Benton Quest and I have shared more that we ever imagined. I too must apologize . . . for my jealousy and my possessiveness. I dealt with the signs of your adulthood no better than Dr. Quest dealt with them in his sons. I was jealous of your attachment to those people and resented them because they were able to share all of those years that I missed. It was unfair of me . . . both to them and to you."

For the first time, Hadji smiled. "Let us get through the days to come, Mother, and then we will find a way to make up for the lost years."

"It is a good plan. Go. Meditate and rest . . . and then go find the girl you have given your heart to and spend a quiet evening together. Her presence will heal you more quickly than anything else. Just try to do it in such a way that no one can level any unfair accusations against her later."

"I will do as you suggest, Mother. Take care . . . and watch your back." ."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


In a distant corner of the Royal Palace of Bangalore, a man leaned forward and turned off the recording device that had been established to monitor the private telephone line into the Regent's quarters. Inserting a new tape into the machine, he set the incoming sensor once more, pocketed the used tape, and left his small, closet-like room to go in search of Arun Birla . . . ."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Burroughs," Barbara said patiently. "Dr. William Burroughs. From England. I was told he recently joined your teaching staff."

"Well, ahym sorry, honey, but ah jus' don't see anyone by that name on our list of doctors," the woman replied in a deep Texas drawl. "If ya'll want ta leave a number, ah'll shore be happy to pass it on to the head of the medical school. If we turn up your Dr. Barlow, someone can call your doctor friend back. Whad you say his name was?"

"Mason," Barbara almost snarled through gritted teeth. "My name is Barbara Mason and I'm a physician with Penobscot Bay Medical Center in Rockport, Maine. And the doctor I'm searching for is named Burroughs . . . William Burroughs. He used to work for the Public Health Laboratory Service in Great Britain." She gave the woman the number for the third time. "Please ask the head of your medical school to call me back as soon as possible. It's extremely important."

"Shore thing, honey. Ah'll have him call your boss back if he knows this Dr. Mason. You have a nice day now, ya hear?" And the phone went dead in her ear. Barbara slammed the phone down with enough force to crack the instrument.

"Good heavens! Are you all right?" Estella propped herself up on an elbow and eyed her friend in concern. "What in God's name was that all about?"

"Stupid, incompetent woman!" Barbara swore in frustration. "How can they possibly have someone that incapable working a front reception desk at a medical school?"

"Everyone has a bad day every so often. Maybe she's just in the middle of one." Estella struggled briefly, coming to a sitting position and then swung her legs off the sofa and levered herself to her feet.

"Don't get up!" Barbara said sharply. The sound of her voice carried easily in the quiet house and quickly brought both Benton and Race running.

"Damn it, Estella . . ." Race exclaimed, leaping toward her with outstretched arms.

She fended him off deftly. "Give me a break, people! I have to use the bathroom. I can't do that lying on the sofa." She took three steps and then hesitated, swaying on her feet. "Oh!"

Race caught her as she staggered forward, barely keeping her from falling. "What is it, sweetheart? What's wrong?"

She clung to him, breathing deeply. "Just give me a minute. I moved too quickly . . . just a little dizziness. It will pass."

"You shouldn't be up," Race said fretfully, holding her close.

"Okay . . . there . . . I'm better now. I just needed to get my equilibrium back." She tried to push away from her husband, but he wouldn't release her.

"I'll take you. Come on . . ."

"Race, I'm fine . . ."

"I don't want to risk you falling. I'll get you there and back, and then you are to lie down again."

Estella looked at him in amused exasperation. "You are such a mother hen."

"Yeah, yeah. I am . . . so what?" they heard him reply as the two of them exited the room and moved off down the hall.

Benton looked after them with a troubled expression. "She's getting worse, isn't she?"

Barbara hesitated and then said quietly, "Yes. It's moving much more quickly than I'd hoped it would. She may not make it to 28 weeks." Barbara sighed softly. "I ran the screen on her again today and the protein levels in her urine have almost doubled since the first screen we did a week ago. And her blood pressure was up to 165/100 this evening."

"Isn't there _anything_ we can do?"

"I'd hoped that altering her diet a little would control the blood pressure, at least for a while, but it's not working." 

"What about hypertension medications?"

"There are some we can try," Barbara said reluctantly, "but anything we give her will effect the child and that's not good, either. If it keeps escalating at this rate, the more severe symptoms are bound to start showing up. When she starts showing signs of irregular heartbeat, kidney shutdown, or her blood pressure hits 180/110 I'm not going to have any choice but to hospitalize her, and she's not going to like that one bit."

"At the Medical Center here?"

"No. She'll be better off in Portland. Maine Medical Center has an outstanding neonatal critical care unit."

"I didn't know you were on staff there," Benton said in surprise.

"I'm not . . . at least, not any longer."

He turned to her, looking upset. "Are you saying you're going to turn her care over to someone else? They aren't going to like that, Barbara. I don't like it, either."

"Benton, she's going to need a specialist. I'm a family practitioner. I've delivered a lot of babies since I've become licensed, but I know when it's time to pass the ball to someone with specialized knowledge." She caught his arm and squeezed it tightly. "You _understand_ this, Benton. It would be like asking a veterinarian to stand in for a physician. She needs more than I can give her."

"You said you used to be on staff there. Could you get privileges again?"

"Benton . . ."

"She trusts you, Barbara. We all do. And she's scared. Even if you weren't the doctor in charge of her care, I know that just having you there would ease her mind."

"One way or the other, I'll be there. I can promise you that much. But since we're talking about Portland, I might as well tell you . . . I've got your next round of tests scheduled."

"Oh, no!" he said violently. "I am not going to Portland."

"You told your sons you would do what I wanted you to do," she said with a determined glint in her eyes.

"I know I did, but now you're being unreasonable. I've done everything else you asked of me, but I am not going to drive all the way down there to have some stranger go through the same stuff you've already done."

"None of what they're going to do will be repeats. We'll send all your current test results with you. I'm sending you down to Dr. Newcomb. He's a friend and one of the finest cardiologists this side of New York. You're scheduled to start at 7:00 a.m. two weeks from this coming Monday. The entire workup shouldn't take more than three days . . ."

"No!"

_**"YES!"**_

"I have had enough! I'll be damned if I waste any more time on this . . . this . . . flight of fancy . . ."

"Do I have to call the boys and get them in the middle of this?" Race demanded quietly from the doorway. He supported Estella across the room and helped her lie down on the sofa again, before turning to face Benton. "I will if I have to. One way or the other, you _are_ going down there and you _**are**_ going to take those tests."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Benton snarled angrily. "I am not a child . . ."

"Then don't act like one!" Race snapped. "I'm sick and tired of you trying to hide behind that brave front and pretend nothing is wrong. From the first day I met you, I've watched you do this. You try so hard to protect those people that are important to you. And when you're sick or hurt or in pain, emotionally or physically, you erect this wall and retreat behind it. You figure if we don't know there's something wrong with you, we can't be hurt by it. Well, let me tell you something . . . we're not that stupid! We've all learned the signs. Every member of this family is worried sick about you. What will it take to make you realize that you hurt all of us more by pretending to be well than to admit there's a problem?"

Benton stared at him, dumbstruck.

"Damn it, Benton, please! Just do as she asks. I've got enough on my mind right now without having to worry about whether you're going to keel over."

"Race, I . . ."

"Just _**do**_ it!"

"All right. You win," Benton finally said. Then he turned to Barbara with a look of desperate appeal. "Just stick with us, okay?"

She grasped his hand tightly, thankfulness filling her. "Every step of the way," she promised. After a minute, she squared her shoulders and turned back to the phone. "Okay . . . Dr. Burroughs . . . let's try tackling the airhead again . . ." 


	11. Chapter 11

**

Chapter Eleven

**

  


The sun was just cresting the mountains east of Bangalore City as Arun Birla reached out and pressed the stop button on the tape machine. He sat back thoughtfully in his chair in his private home just outside the city, contemplating the conversation between Hadji Singh and his mother. So, things were finally coming to a climax at last. Birla smiled in anticipation.

"This was well done," he said to the man who stood rigidly in front of his desk. "I could wish that the Sultan were a little less knowledgeable than he appears to be, but no matter. There is little he can do to stop us now, and we should be able to bring our plans to a satisfactory ending very soon."

"Shall I contact our agents in the United States? The Sultan would not expect an attack there. We could eliminate him easily and then the country would be ours."

Birla shook his head. "No. Although he is Sultan of Bangalore, he is still an American citizen with a powerful family. Kill him on American soil and we will have an international incident to deal with. No, we need him back in Bangalore. Then, when he dies, it will be an internal matter, and we need not fear reprisal from the Americans."

"What of the Regent?"

"What of her?" Birla asked disdainfully. "She is only a woman, what could she possibly do? No, let her roam the palace as she wishes, but keep a close watch on her. We can eliminate her at our leisure once the Sultan is dead." Then he frowned. "I do believe that we will work to hurry up the conclusion of this enterprise, however. I grow weary of waiting. Let us get the Sultan back to this country to put an end to this."

"But how, Sire?" The man gestured at the tape machine. "He stated clearly that he is aware that to return here would mean his death. And since you say we can do nothing openly, how are we to get him to return?"

Birla's smile was not pleasant. "We must make him _want_ to return. We cannot act directly against Sultan Singh, but there is one that we can. Contact our operatives in America. Tell them that they are to take the girl immediately and bring her back here. I want her under guard in my house before this time tomorrow."

"What of the Sultan? Do we do it in such a way that he does not know about it?"

Birla laughed. "No. By all means, allow him to know of it. Even better, have them take her while they are together." He gestured at the tape machine again. "His mother has directed him to spend some time with her to help ease his disturbed spirit. The timing should be excellent, and the action will give him more of an incentive to come home and attempt to get her back. Just be certain that the men you send cannot be connected directly to me. Now, go. We do not want to miss such an excellent opportunity!"

The man on the opposite side of the desk bowed deeply. "It shall be as you command." ."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Kefira leaned back in her chair and sighed contentedly. "That was wonderful," she said to Hadji. "I love this place."

"I am glad. Although, I must admit that your sudden affinity for Mexican food surprises me. This is the third time this week that you have wanted to eat here!"

She cocked her head at him and grinned. "Why are you surprised? I love all different types of food and this was something that I had never had the chance to try before coming here."

Hadji laughed. "I see. Then I must start searching for new ethnic restaurants to take you to so that you do not get bored."

She reached across the table and caught his hand. "I could never be bored as long as it is you that takes me." She scanned his face closely and then added softly, "You meditated this afternoon. I can tell. You are more centered and at peace than the last time I saw you."

He nodded. "Yes, but there is more." He looked at her seriously. "I had a long talk with my mother this afternoon." He saw the fear flicker across her face and shook his head sharply. "No, it is all right. It began as an argument, but ended well." A frown turned down the corners of his mouth. "I just hope that I have not made another mistake telling her the things I did."

"Tell me."

He told her about his conversation with his mother and the information that he had finally given her. "I named no names, but she now has a much better grasp of the true situation in Bangalore," he finally concluded.

"But I would think that would be a good thing," Kefira said with surprise. "Why does this idea disturb you? I know how difficult your relationship with your mother has been over the last few years. Your attempts to find ways to protect her from the true situation may have been noble, Hadji, but it is difficult to have to generate and then live with constant antagonism between people you care about."

Hadji chuckled wryly. "Unfortunately, I did not have to deliberately generate it. I honestly do not like the trappings of power, so anything that reminds me that I must be bound by them irritates me . . . particularly when they are used as an excuse to make me behave in a way foreign to my nature. Also, my mother made a point today. My adoptive father and my natural mother are more alike than either one of them cares to admit. And where Father may be struggling to cope with the idea of Jonny and I being old enough to be out on our own, my mother is struggling with the jealousy that comes from having missed watching me grow up. She yearns to be able to recapture those years she missed and does not wish me to be any more of an adult than Father does Jonny. The truth is that I have coped with Mother's attempts to cling to me no better than Jonny has coped with Father's."

"I do not believe that it is easy being a parent," Kefira observed thoughtfully.

Hadji looked at her seriously. "May I ask you something?"

She looked surprised. "Certainly . . . anything you wish."

"Do you want children?"

She stared at him, dumbstruck. "Do I . . . well, it _**is**_ rather an academic question," she finally replied. "Of course we will have children. It will be expected of us."

Hadji shook his head. "No. I am not talking about what is expected of us. I am asking if that is what you _wish_."

Kefira stared at him for a long time. Finally, she replied, "I will not answer that question."

Now it was Hadji's turn to be dumbfounded. "Why not?" he demanded.

"Because it is another one of those questions that leaves me in an extremely awkward position."

"Why? It is a simple enough question."

"No, it is not. If I say 'yes', then you will spend weeks . . . or even months . . . debating with yourself, trying to determine if it really _is_ what I want, or if I am simply saying that it is because you think I feel obligated to feel that way. Do you realize that it took a conscious decision to die rather than be separated from you to make you truly believe that I was with you because I loved you? What would I have to do to convince you that I mean what I say if I were to tell you I wanted children? And if I say 'no', _then_ you return to the idea of not marrying me because you will not have me forced into doing something that I do not wish to do. I cannot win by answering the question, therefore I will not do it."

"But it is important . . ."

"I will not answer you," she replied stubbornly, "so you may as well stop asking."

"And if I order you to respond?" he said, somewhat stiffly.

She glared at him. Carefully, she laid her napkin on the table, reached down to pick up her purse, and then said clearly, "Then I will tell you exactly where you may stick your order . . ." Rising, she turned and walked away. Halfway across the room she stopped and turned back. Bowing regally, she added, " . . . Excellency." Turning again, she disappeared into the short corridor that led to the lady's room, leaving everyone in the restaurant staring.

Swearing under his breath, he tossed a couple of bills on the table and followed her across the room. Planting himself outside the bathroom door, he waited impatiently. Finally, a tap on his shoulder brought him around quickly.

"You want me to go in there and pass on a message?" The woman who had waited on them grinned at him sympathetically. "Wouldn't be the first time I've performed that service."

"I would be very grateful," he told her. "If you would just tell her that I am very sorry, and that I will not do it again . . . ever."

"That's the ticket!" she said with a grin, and disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later she reappeared. "Take heart. She's cooled off, and she'll be out in a few minutes."

"Thank you very much!"

It was another five minutes before Kefira appeared at the bathroom door. Before she could say anything at all, Hadji began to babble, "I am very sorry, Kefira. I should not have said that. You know that I would never, _ever_ demand that you do anything you did not wish to do. I swear that I will never do such a thing ever again. You deserve . . .

Laughing, she held up her hands defensively. "Stop! Stop! Enough!" She reached out and caught his arm, turning him toward the door. "You are forgiven."

Laughing in relief, he pressed her arm against his side. "Do you realize that we have just had our first fight?"

"Was that a fight?" she asked with a mischievous grin. "It sounded nothing at all like the fights that I have seen Jonny and Jessie have."

"Praise be to God," he said fervently, as he opened the door. "I hope we will _never_ fight the way those two do."

"They certainly do seem to enjoy making up, however." The two of them were laughing companionably as they left the restaurant and began to walk down 110th Street, heading back toward campus. On their left was the north edge of Central Park and through the trees they could see the lights of the Dana Discovery Center reflecting in the water of the lake. Darkness had fallen, however the streets were still alive with people. The young couple didn't hurry, strolling leisurely through the crowds. As they neared campus, the pair turned from the main thoroughfare onto a dark, quiet side street. This was a neighborhood of apartment buildings and old single-family homes. Four and five story brownstones with little or no front yards formed the bulk of the structures, and cars were parked along the curb on either side of the street.

At the same time, both of them caught the stealthy movement between the vehicles not far ahead of them.

"Hadji . . ." Kefira hissed softly, tightening her grip on his arm.

"I see it," he whispered. His internal radar began going off loudly as he scanned the area swiftly. He had caught the movement of at least two people. Whoever they were, they were between them and Kefira's apartment building. The walls of the buildings on one side and the bumper-to-bumper vehicles on the other boxed them in. Without going up and over parked cars, they were limited to the space formed by the somewhat narrow sidewalk they were on. They could turn around and retreat back toward the more brightly lit boulevard, but that meant turning their backs on whoever lurked ahead of them, and Hadji didn't think that was a wise idea. Suddenly, Kefira uttered an exclamation and stopped to bend down and reach for something at her feet. When she straightened, she hissed softly, "Behind us . . . at least two men about 20 yards back . . . moving up slowly."

"There are at least two ahead of us as well," he responded in the same tone. Turning her to face him, he placed one hand on the side of her face and tilted her head up toward him. Leaning down as if to kiss her, he glanced swiftly in both directions. "All four are moving toward us," he whispered, his lips just a hair's breadth away from hers. "When I tell you, go past me, over the hood of the car, and . . ."

"I will not run and leave you here alone!" she said breathily and then her lips fastened on his. An instant later, she exploded. Spinning on one leg, her other one caught the lead attacker square in the stomach. He doubled over with a grunt as she followed up with a fist to his ear. The man reeled backward, clearing a path for the second assailant. At her back, Hadji had turned to face the other two attackers. Having been given a split second's warning, they were more prepared and came at him from two different directions. With little room to maneuver, Hadji did the only thing he could. With a leap, he sprang to the hood of the parked car beside them. The unexpected move caught one of the men off guard and Hadji was able to send him slamming back into the wall of the nearby apartment building with a kick to the jaw. Unfortunately, in the time it took to make that move, Hadji's second assailant reached in and yanked his other leg out from under him. Hadji came down hard across the hood of the car, momentarily stunned. He watched as the other man pulled a gun and aimed it at him. But salvation came from an unexpected source.

"No!" one of the attackers snapped in Hindi. "Our orders were to leave him unharmed. It is the girl we want. Bring her and let us go!"

Kefira still fought like a tigress and the two men who were attempting to hold her were having a very difficult time. The man with the gun holstered it again and moved to assist his companions, but by this time, Hadji had his breath back. As the man turned his back, Hadji launched himself off the hood of the car and slammed into him again, sending them both careening into Kefira and her captors. The three staggered, and Kefira went limp, her unexpected weight throwing her captors off balance even further. Gathering her feet back under her, she straightened abruptly, thrusting the top of her head up under the chin of one of the men. She could hear his stunned grunt as his teeth snapped together and his hold on her loosened. Shoving him away, she clawed viciously at her other captor's eyes. The man staggered away, his hands covering his eyes. Kefira turned and, with both fists, struck Hadji's attacker hard in the kidneys. The man swore and lashed out at her with one fist. It struck her sharply in the face and she fell back with a cry.

Hadji snarled and twisted, breaking his attacker's hold. Dropping to a crouch, he lashed out with one leg, attempting to knock his opponent's feet out from under him, but the man moved too quickly. He jumped, clearing the intended blow, and tackled Hadji, sending them both to the ground. They rolled across the sidewalk until they came up sharply against one of the parked cars. With a quick movement, the man thrust Hadji against the vehicle and swung at him with a fist. The blow caught him across one cheekbone and his head snapped back sharply, leaving his head ringing. Through the roaring in his ears, Hadji heard Kefira cry out again. With all of the strength he could muster, he swung at his opponent, catching him squarely on the jaw. The attacker grunted, and Hadji lashed out again, desperate to get the man off of him and go to Kefira's assistance. The third blow caused his attacker to fall away, senseless.

"Enough!"

Hadji surged to his feet once more, only to find the fourth man holding a gun to Kefira's head. She lay on the ground, pinned tightly by a foot planted firmly on her diaphragm. Her head and shoulders were raised off the ground by his grip on her hair, and a gun pressed against her temple.

"I have no orders preventing me from killing **her**," the man warned in a soft, deadly voice, "so if you want her to live, you will back away _now_."

Hadji froze, staring at the man intensely. "What is it that you want?"

"From you?" The man grinned nastily. "Nothing. My orders are simple. Find the girl and return her to where she belongs."

"Orders from whom?" Hadji demanded harshly. "No one's orders supersede mine, and I tell you to let her go or forfeit your life!"

The man laughed harshly. "Your days are limited, _Excellency._ You have no power to command _anyone!_"

"Who ordered you to bring Kefira back to Bangalore?" Hadji demanded.

"Why, the Regent . . .who else?"

"I think not. My mother would never condone physical violence . . . she has been on the receiving end of it too often to be prepared to resort to it. Who sent you? And why Kefira? If you want to take anyone, why not me?"

"Politics." The man grinned again. "Her affiliations are clear and her disappearance will cause fewer problems." Removing his foot from her chest, the man dragged Kefira to her feet and pinned her body against his with his free arm. "Now, I have wasted enough time. If you value her life, Excellency, you will stand fast and allow us to depart."

"If you harm one hair on her head, I will see you dead," Hadji replied in a cold, flat voice.

"We shall see . . ." The man glanced swiftly at his three companions, who had all finally regained their feet, and snapped a sharp command in Hindi. With black looks at the young Sultan, they moved away into the darkness. Then the leader began backing away slowly, dragging Kefira with him.

Hadji and Kefira's eyes locked and Hadji went cold at the look he saw reflected there. Suddenly, he heard her voice echoing in his mind again. _I do not wish to be separated from you. From this day forward, I will stand with you . . . no matter what happens._ His heart constricted sharply, recognizing her intent. "No!" he screamed at her, but it was already too late.

Kefira twisted sharply and thrust an elbow into her captor's stomach. The man gasped in surprise and his hand jerked convulsively. The report of the gun shattered the silence as Kefira collapsed limply to the pavement.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

  


The clock on the mantle was chiming 3:00 a.m. as Jonny opened the door and entered the silent, dark apartment. He was absolutely exhausted and it took all of his remaining energy to stumble through the apartment back to the bedroom. It was the third night in a row that he had been in the office before 7:00 a.m. and had not gotten home before two in the morning. _One more day,_ he thought numbly as he stripped off his clothes and dropped them where he stood. _If I can just make it through that presentation tomorrow morning . . ._ He crawled into bed and immediately felt Jessie snuggle up and wrap her arms around him. He burrowed against her shamelessly, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

"I was starting to wonder if you were even going to bother to come home tonight," she said, caressing his hair gently.

"I've just got to have this ready for tomorrow, Jess. They've got all of the divisions worldwide scheduled to tune in to this demo. I can't screw this up."

"You won't," she said with conviction. "You'll be wonderful."

"How can you be so sure?" he questioned, suddenly feeling very insecure. "What if I botch this and they decide that someone as young as I am has no business being responsible for something this important? If I lose this job, we're screwed. We're barely keeping ahead of the bills now, and I'll never be able to find anything . . ."

"Shhhh," Jessie shushed him, drawing him more tightly against her. "None of that will happen. You're doing a wonderful job, you're almost four months ahead of schedule on this project, and they aren't about to fire you. You're just working too hard and not getting enough rest. Go to sleep, love. You'll see. Everything will be better in the morning."

He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "Love you . . ." and then sank into exhausted slumber, still clinging to her tightly. She lay still, waiting for his grip to ease and thinking about his obsessive drive to succeed. When the two of them had made the decision to move out of the Quest Compound and begin a life on their own, she thought she knew Jonny Quest. That he could be dedicated and tenacious when he set his mind to it went without saying, but even she had been astonished at the way he had thrown himself into his job. At first she had thought it had to do with a desire to prove something to his father, but two recent conversations had caused her to rethink that idea.

The first had come at the party on Friday night. She'd been talking to Blake Fearday and he'd made some laughing crack about Jonny being dumb. It had made her angry and she'd responded sharply. Blake had been surprised at her violent response and told her the words weren't his . . . that they were Jonny's. He assured her very strongly that the comment had been meant as a joke, and that he knew better than to think any such thing about his new friend. Mollified, she had apologized for her harsh tone and told him to forget it.

The second incident had been a discussion with Kefira on Sunday. Still disturbed by what Blake had said to her, she had talked to Kefira about it. The Indian girl told her about Jonny's conversation with Hadji and his feelings about his job. Those two conversations had shaken her. From his behavior and the way he had interacted with everyone at the Quest Compound, she never would have believed that Jonny felt outclassed in anything. True, he didn't like pure research, she'd known that for a long time. But to think that he felt second best because he didn't enjoy it while she and Hadji did? It hurt her to think that there were times when she might have made him feel inadequate or that she had attracted his father's attention when he needed it. She cuddled him even closer as she remembered the image of Benton Quest berating his son for not following in his footsteps while they were trapped in Surd's Thoughtscape program. _Jessie's more like me than you'll ever be. Don't you see? She's the one following in my footsteps . . . trying to be a real scientist. Not you!_ Benton's voice echoed in her mind, igniting an unreasonable anger at both men. Surd had found Jonny Quest's weakness where none of the rest of them even realized it existed, and had utilized the image of his own father to drive it home.

She ran her hands down his back gently, feeling the smooth skin and nicely toned muscle under her fingers. If he liked this job so much, then she would endure whatever it took and would support him in every way she could so he had the chance to be as outstanding as she knew he could be. She would **_never_** let anyone make him feel inadequate or dumb ever again. And she wouldn't allow _anyone_ to get in his way . . . not even his own father. ."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


It was shortly before 7:00 a.m. when the phone on Stan Knight's desk rang. His eyebrows rose in surprise as his secretary informed him who was waiting on hold to speak with him. Pressing a button quickly, he said,

"Hello, Ms. Bannon. How are you this morning?"

"Very well, Mr. Knight, thank you."

He heard her hesitate and asked smoothly, "How can I help you? Are you looking for Jon? I'm not sure I've seen him come in yet, but he should be here any time. He hasn't missed a staff meeting yet."

"No, sir. Actually, I was looking for you. I know where Jon is, and that's why I'm calling." He felt her hesitate again and then she blurted out, "He's still in bed, sir, and I'm really hesitant to get him up. You see, he's been working nonstop on the presentation he's supposed to give tomorrow morning and he hasn't gotten more than two or three hours of sleep a night since last Sunday. He's just too tired to be able to think straight right now. I was hoping that you wouldn't object if I let him sleep late this morning so he's rested and clearheaded enough to get everything ready for tomorrow."

Stan sighed. "Jessica . . . may I call you Jessica?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. We're not trying to drive him to collapse. It's not a problem if that presentation isn't ready for tomorrow morning. All he had to do was say that he could use more time."

"I know, but it's so important to him that he make a good impression on everyone there . . ."

"May I ask you a question, Jessica?"

"Of course."

"Is it us he's trying to impress . . . or his father?"

Stan could almost feel her debating with herself as she contemplated the question. Finally, as if coming to a decision, she asked, "How much do you know . . . about us, I mean?"

"Very little. Jon simply doesn't talk about himself. Garrett Blackman and I know more than anyone else, I think, and then it's only the sketchy details Ben Sikes knows . . . that he's the son of Benton Quest, the world-famous scientist; that for some reason Jon was blacklisted at M.I.T., apparently due to action taken by his father; that Jon found out about it and the knowledge caused a falling out between father and son; and that finally, as a result, Jon chose to forego school and came to work for us."

"But you don't know what precipitated the break with his father?"

"No."

Jessie sighed. "I was the cause, Mr. Knight . . ."

"Stan," he said firmly.

"Stan," she acknowledged. "Jon and I had made a permanent commitment to each other . . . an emotional and physical one . . . and Jon's father objected to it. He thought we were too young." She paused for a second and when she continued, her voice had changed. "I had already accepted admission to M.I.T., and Dr. Quest told Jonny that he wouldn't allow us to attend the same school. He made it extremely clear that he wanted to put physical distance between the two of us for a couple of years."

Stan caught the shift in the way Jess referred to the young man immediately. The intimacy and the shaking drop in the tone of her voice made him shiver. These weren't facts, calmly recited. They were occurrences that were still excruciatingly real, the painful memories not yet muted by time . . . and still with the overwhelming power to sear.

"We made the decision that we weren't going to accept that," she continued, struggling to stay composed, "and began looking for other alternatives. We finished school while we searched for options and moved out as soon as we could support ourselves. For two and a half months, we both lived in his father's house under the most terrible emotional conditions you can imagine." By now, she was talking compulsively, unable to stop. "I would have gone to school somewhere else, Stan . . . it didn't have to be M.I.T. But Jonny knew how much I had wanted to attend there before all of this happened, and he wouldn't let me give up that dream."

"Why are you telling me this, Jessica?" Knight asked her gently, as she stopped for breath.

"Because you have to understand," she replied desperately. "Jonny's _**not**_ dumb!" Her voice cracked on a sob and then she stumbled on frantically. "Ask Blake! Ask him what Jonny says about himself . . . how he was the _dumb one_ of the three of us. So what if he doesn't like the kind of research his father does? He's smart and he's caring and he's capable of so much! You asked if he was trying to impress you or his father. I've known him since I was eight, Stan, and I've never seen him this happy doing _anything_. He's found a place for himself at Blackman Communications . . . one that he got on his own merits and where he's not living in his father's shadow. It's so _important_ to him to do a good job for you . . . not to impress his father, but to validate himself." She stumbled to a halt, struggling to rein herself in as she realized just how much she was revealing to this man. Finally, in a subdued voice she asked, "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Yes, I do," Stan replied gently. "I want you to know that we are pleased to have him here and are absolutely astounded at his capabilities. His father had nothing to do with our decision to hire him. It was his own skills and willingness to work that impressed us, and I promise you that we'll fight to keep him. But I'm also going to ask you for your help."

"To do what?"

"To help us see to it that he lives up to his promise. All of us here, from Garrett Blackman straight on down, recognize Jon's value and potential, and it's not going to be very long before the hard work he's already put in will be rewarded. This is strictly between you and me, okay?"

"Y-yes . . . okay," she replied.

"I have a real concern, Jessica, and its one Garrett shares. We've seen young men like Jon before. Whatever their reasons, they tend to be obsessive in their need to prove themselves, and all too often they're like shooting stars . . . they shine brilliantly for a short period of time and then they burn out. It's important that all of us . . . you, me, Garrett, Ben Sikes, his co-workers . . . watch him carefully and ensure that doesn't happen to Jon. We have to help him learn how to harness that drive and direct it properly so that he can turn it to useful purposes rather than letting it eat him up."

"Yes!" she replied eagerly. "What do you want me to do?"

"Exactly what you've just done. Watch over him . . . pull the plug when he pushes too hard. Then tell us when he gets like this . . . because _**he**_ won't. All you need to do is call Garrett or I, or let Ben know when you're at school, and he'll see that the word gets passed on and that we find a way to ease the pressure. We're also going to get the admission ban at M.I.T. lifted so he can start school part time. If necessary, we'll make it a requirement of his job, so he feels obligated to make time for it. Encourage him to do that and work with him so that he can balance it all without having it come crashing down on him. As for right now, let him sleep, Jessica. When he gets in, I'll tell him that something has come up and that we are going to have to postpone that presentation for at least a week . . . maybe even two. That should ease things for now."

"Thank you," she said humbly, her relief and gratitude coming through clearly. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"By caring for him and helping us make certain that he shines for a very long time."

Finally, Stan heard a smile in her voice for the first time, as she replied, "You give me the easy job."

That made him laugh. "Good. Now, I better get to my staff meeting. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

"You can count on it!"

As Stan dropped the receiver back into the desk unit, he looked up and saw Garrett Blackman lounging against the doorjamb. "Jon?"

"Jessica . . . looking out for Jon's best interests. She's really something, you know that?"

"I got that impression on Friday night. That's a formidable pair, particularly considering how young they are. I think that if we mentor both of them very carefully, the two of them are going to make a significant contribution to this world one day."

"I believe you're absolutely right." ."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


The sound of the door closing behind Jessie penetrated Jonny's sleeping mind and caused him to reluctantly drag himself to consciousness. He lay there staring at the ceiling in confusion, bewildered by the bright morning sunlight coming through the east bedroom window.

"Jess?" he mumbled. Only silence greeted him. "Jess?" he repeated, struggling into a sitting position. Twisting around, he peered at the clock. It took a moment for the time to register . . . 7:15. Suddenly, the significance struck him . . . 7:15 and it was Thursday . . . he was late for the morning staff meeting!

**"SHIT!!!!"** He shot out of bed like a bullet and flung himself across the room toward the bathroom. Any other time, he'd blow off a shower and just get dressed and make a run for the office, but he knew if he didn't do something to try to wake up, he'd never make it. He turned the cold water on full force and immediately dived in. He shivered convulsively as he soaped himself down and then rinsed off. His head ached dully from lack of sleep and still felt groggy as he toweled off and stumbled back into the bedroom to find something to wear. The phone began to ring just as he pulled on his shirt. Certain that it was the office wanting to know where he was, he picked up the phone and said hesitantly, "Hello?"

"Jonny?" his father's voice questioned, sounding surprised.

"Dad?" Jonny froze, balanced precariously on one leg as he attempted to pull on a sock. "Is something wrong?"

"No . . . no, nothing's wrong. I'd just called yesterday and you never called back. I was getting worried . . ."

"You did?" With the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, he hopped awkwardly on one foot trying to keep his balance as he pulled on his second sock. "I'm sorry. I've got a big presentation coming up at work tomorrow and I stayed at the office until really late last night working on it. Jess was asleep long before I got home, and when I got here I just fell over into bed and didn't check the answering machine."

"Ah, that explains it. Well, since I've caught you at home, I want to talk to you about something."

"Yeah?" Jonny crossed to the closet for a clean pair of jeans and began tugging them on. He was only half-listening to his father as he tried to force his sleep-deprived brain to concentrate on everything he needed to accomplish that day, what he was going to say to Stan Knight about being late to work, and why Jessie would have let him oversleep.

"Jonny, I know that we haven't been getting along very well in the last several months and I was hoping that maybe we could try to find a solution that both of us could live with."

Jonny looked around again and spotted the pants he'd been wearing the day before draped across a nearby chair. He trotted over and pulled the belt off of them and began threading it through his belt loops. He scrambled desperately as his movements dislodged the phone, which was still wedged against his shoulder, and caught it just before it hit the floor. Putting it back to his ear, he said, "Dad, I'd really like to . . ."

"Let me tell you what I was thinking," Benton interrupted eagerly, thinking that Jonny was agreeing with him. "If you were to talk with your employer and get them to agree to let you work part time, I could talk to President Vest and see about getting you admitted to M.I.T. for spring term. You could probably work about 10 hours a week as long as you only carried about 14 hours. That seems fair, doesn't it?"

Jonny froze, his attention finally focusing on what his father was saying to him. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head desperately, unsure he'd heard his father correctly. Did he actually say that he thought he should only work . . .

"Ten hours a week?" he said uncertainly.

"Yes! I know the way you are, Jonny. I'm sure you could handle working that many hours and still have plenty of time to attend class and get your studies done."

"But Dad, I can't cut back like that! I barely manage to get everything done at work now. Furthermore, if I drop back from full time, we won't have the money to pay the rent, plus I lose all of my benefits, which means Jess and I don't have insurance or anything like that!"

"Jonny, if you'll do this, I'll pay your tuition _and_ your rent. You won't need the money or the benefits, so it won't matter."

_"Won't matter?"_ he responded incredulously. "Of course it will matter! What do you think I'm doing, playing an oversized game of House with Jess? These people pay me to do a job . . . a job that _needs_ to be done. They _rely_ on me . . ."

"Jonny, you're 18 years old." Jonny clearly heard Benton's hold on his temper starting to slip. "Do you honestly believe that they would turn that kind of responsibility over to someone so young without having some sort of a fallback plan? It's nice of them to give you a job, but . . ."

The condescension in his father's tone and the way Benton's words echoed his own inner fears destroyed the last of Jonny's self-control and he lashed out viciously, "You just can't stand it, can you? Can't stand the idea that I _can_ manage on my own . . . that I don't _**need**_ your help any more."

"Don't need my help?" Benton responded furiously, his voice rising sharply. "Do you honestly believe they would have even looked at you if it hadn't been for me? Whether you want to admit it or not, you have that job _because_ you're my son, and . . ."

"This isn't about you!" Jonny screamed back at him. "It never has been. It's about _**ME**_ . . . and what _**I'M**_ capable of accomplishing. I may not be as smart as Jessie or Hadji, and I may not be able to do all that cutting edge research the way they can, but I've got my skills, too! But then, those don't matter to you, do they? If I can't follow in your footsteps, then all I'm good for is hanging around so you can look at me and remember Mom! Well, I'm sick of being a living portrait and of having to listen to you undermine me, and everything that I try to do." Jonny was so furious by this time he was barely even registering what he was saying any longer. Ruthlessly, he mimicked his father, 'You have to go to school, Jonny.' 'You're not old enough to know what you want, Jonny.' 'Things will look different in a few years, Jonny.' Well, let me tell you something, _Father_. I _am_ old enough to know what I want! I _**am**_ capable of getting it for myself! And I'll damn well _starve_ before I take _**anything**_ from you ever **AGAIN!!!**"

With that, he slammed the phone down, snatched up his wallet and keys, and stormed out of the apartment, never seeing the note that Jessie had left for him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

  
A knock on the door of Neela Singh's office caused her to look up with a frown. 

"Come!" she called irritably. Her tone must have conveyed her displeasure, because the young woman who opened the door and stuck her head in did so with more deference than usual.

"I am most terribly sorry, Excellency. I know that you stated that you did not wish to be disturbed, but Mr. Birla is asking to see you. I felt that it would not be wise to send him away without informing you that he was here."

Neela felt herself go still. Birla? Here? What was he doing here? He wasn't expected . . .

"Did I have a meeting scheduled with him? I do not remember . . ."

"No, Excellency. He stated that he had come to the palace on another matter and hoped that you would be available to see him briefly. He did not indicate that it was urgent. Shall I tell him that you do not have the time?"

_"Continue as you have been doing for the last several months,"_ Hadji had said. And in the last several months, whenever Mr. Birla had appeared she had accommodated him.

"No, of course I shall see him. Please escort him here." Hastily, she cleared her desk, shoving reports and diagrams out of sight in a desk drawer. By the time her assistant knocked on the door once more, she was standing at the high window to the left of the desk, gazing out across the city. "Come," she called, without turning. She heard the door open and footsteps enter. After a moment, the young woman cleared her throat and said diffidently,

"Mr. Birla, your Excellency."

Turning, she nodded at the young woman and said, "Thank you. You may go." She bowed and left, closing the door behind her. "Mr. Birla, what an unexpected pleasure." She gestured to a grouping of chairs on the far side of the room, indicating that he should sit. "May I offer you something? Tea, perhaps? Or coffee?"

"I would welcome a cup of tea if it is no trouble."

"Certainly." Neela rang for a servant and instructed that tea be brought immediately. Then she sat down across from him and looked him in the eyes. "Now, how may I be of service this morning?"

"I received reports last evening that disturb me greatly and I felt you should be made aware of them."

"What sort of reports?" A knock on the door interrupted them. At her call, a servant entered and set a tray with a pot and two cups on the table. Neela poured two cups of tea and handed Birla one of them. Sitting back in her chair, she prompted him, "Reports?"

Birla sighed. "It seems there was a clash between a group of men in one of the high mountain provinces and a contingent of the Royal Guard. Shots were fired and at least one man was killed."

"How did this happen?" Neela asked sharply. "What were Royal Guardsmen doing in one of the outlying provinces?"

Birla hung his head. "I am sorry, Excellency, but I asked them to go. You are aware that we have been having problems in that area with bandits. I asked these guardsmen to go to see if they could not quell some of that activity. Unfortunately, resentment for the government in that area is running exceedingly high and things escalated into violence last night."

"Where did this incident occur?" she demanded.

"In a small village called Keala in the northern mountains."

Neela thought hastily. "That is on Rafiq land."

Birla shook his head. "No. It used to be Rafiq land, but it now belongs to Rajeev Subramanian. The land, and the people living on it, were part of the dowry agreement when the eldest Subramanian daughter married Subir Rafiq." Birla looked at Neela steadily and something in his eyes made her want to shiver. She had seen that look before . . . on the face of Deepak Singh just before he ordered his own brother slaughtered. With sudden clarity, Neela knew . . . Arun Birla knew of the telephone call from her son last night and he was preparing to move.

"Do you see significance in this, Mr. Birla?" she heard herself say, and the calmness of the tone surprised her. Hadji was right. This man was deadly. 

"I am sorry to say, Excellency, that I have received numerous reports that indicate that Rajeev Subramanian has more sympathy than he should for the local rabble. I am not convinced that he wholeheartedly supports the Sultancy."

"Tread carefully, Mr. Birla," Neela said coldly, knowing that this response was correct. She would have replied this way even before she knew the man's true colors. "This is the father of the young woman my son has chosen to be his future wife. The man has pledged himself and his family to ours. Be very certain before you accuse him of treason."

Birla's expression was regretful and he inclined his head to her, but that flash in his eyes told her that this game had a purpose. What it was, she had yet to be able to determine.

"I regret that I must bring this news, Excellency, but the information is sound. It comes from within his own family."

"What!? Explain!"

"You remember the daughter . . . Daria?"

"Yes. The eldest girl. She was presented to my son as a marriage candidate."

Birla nodded. "She now lives with Subir Rafiq not far from the main mine owned by Rajeev Subramanian. Her husband works for Subramanian as a heavy equipment operator. Because she still remains close, the girl often visits her parents. She tells of men who have been positively linked to the rebel movement visiting the Subramanian home."

_Why is he telling me this?_ Neela wondered. She had the uneasy sense of events escalating out of her control. He knew there was little or nothing she could do to stop anything he might want to do, and yet he came to her with this. What did he want? "You have a suggestion about what should be done?"

"I believe that it would be wise to bring Rajeev Subramanian and his family here to the palace. We have discussed this before and at that time you felt it was unwise. Particularly with the young woman returning from America, we should reconsider. It will make her stay here easier if her family is with her. It also takes them out of the reach of the rebel leaders . . . disassociates Rajeev from the conspirators . . . so that when they fall, as we know they must, he will not be linked to them and the girl's reputation will not be tarnished by the association." 

_He is like the cobra,_ Neela thought. _He slithers through the grass, driving others before him in fear . . . sensing his presence but never really knowing what he will do until he rears his head to strike._ She feared that if he were given the chance, just as with the cobra, his strike would be deadly. But even the cobra could be controlled . . . if the situation and tactics were right. Perhaps, if she moved carefully, she might at least be able to slow him down.

Neela sighed. Leaning forward to set her cup on the table, she rose and walked back across the room to stand staring out across the city once more. "Yes, the girl," she said in a soft, sad voice. "I am actually very glad you are here today, Mr. Birla. If you had not come seeking me, I would have come to you. I am in great need of your council."

Birla set his cup on the table and rose to come to her solicitously. "Certainly, Excellency! Anything I may do to serve . . . "

Neela turned to him with an expression of great distress. "My son called me last night, Mr. Birla. He was extremely angry. He has refused to send the girl home . . . actually turned Ambassador Tilak away when he came to collect her. And his accusations! Why, he called some of the oldest and most trusted families in all of Bangalore traitors! I am extremely distressed and I do not know what to do. For him to believe such things . . ."

Neela caught the flash of surprise that flickered across Birla's face. He hadn't expected this. Good. If she could convince him that she didn't believe the things Hadji had told her, she might have the opportunity to stay close enough to find out what he planned. Any information she might be able to glean could only help her son.

"He is getting poor information, Excellency," Birla replied. "And because his is so young and has not stayed in this country, he does not understand that there are those who would try to use him for their own purposes."

"But what are we to do?" she asked piteously. The words and the tone almost stuck in her throat, but an instant later she was rewarded by the look of triumph that flashed across his face. He was convinced she was gullible enough to believe him!

"Let us start by getting Rajeev Subramanian and his family here to the palace. Once they are here, I am certain the girl can be convinced to return home. Hopefully, removing Rajeev from the subversive influence will allow him to get some perspective on the situation as well as providing a blow to our enemies."

"Yes. All right. That seems reasonable. I will call the Captain of the Guard and have a contingent of Sipahi sent to . . ."

"No!" Birla replied sharply. Catching himself hastily, he continued quickly, "No, Excellency, you do not want to risk sending the military in to do this job. As volatile as the situation is, it could trigger fighting in the area. Allow me to handle this. I will go talk with him personally."

Neela didn't like this one bit, but she didn't dare object. "Very well, Mr. Birla. I will leave it in your hands."

The shrill ringing of the telephone interrupted them. Crossing to the desk, she picked up the phone and snapped, "What is it? You know I am not to be disturbed with I am meeting with one of the Council members!" She listened for a moment, then replied in a more patient tone, "I see. Yes, I will see that he gets the message." Hanging up the phone, she turned back to Birla.

"Your business manager called. He has asked that I inform you that there is an urgent overseas business call that needs your immediate attention. He said the man is to call back in half an hour."

Birla nodded sharply. "Then I must go. I have been in the midst of some extremely delicate negotiations to export some of our new manufactured goods and I cannot afford to miss this call. But rest assured, Excellency, that I shall talk with Rajeev Subramanian before the weekend is out." With a formal bow, the man spun on his heel and left quickly.

Neela walked quickly back to the window and watched until she saw him exit the front of the palace and cross to his car in the inner courtyard. Then she turned and hurried across the room to the door. Opening it she gestured to her assistant. "I have a project that must be completed by this afternoon and I cannot accomplish it if I continue to be interrupted. So I do not want to see _anyone_, is that clear? No exceptions. Nor do I wish to be interrupted by the telephone. When I am done, I will notify you." The girl nodded.

Neela stepped back into her office and locked the door securely. Rajeev Subramanian must be warned. He and his family must be gone before Arun Birla could reach their home. Neela bitterly regretted that she could not find a way to stop the move on the man completely, but to have attempted to do so would have warned Birla that she recognized him as a threat. She could not risk trying to telephone him. Clearly, Birla knew about the telephone call from Hadji last night. He also knew exactly what was said. That meant that it was likely that her telephone line was monitored. And where one was monitored, you had to expect that they all would be. There was no way she could do it herself. She didn't dare go missing that long. Which meant that she would have to charge someone with the task. And there was only one man she could think of. Hadji had said that he now had advisors that he trusted . . . ones that believed as he did. She didn't know whom they all were, but she was willing to bet that she knew at least one of them.

Returning to the desk swiftly, she opened a drawer and drew out a flashlight. Checking the charge, she crossed to a highly decorated wall behind the seating area. Running her fingers along the raised edge of one of the ornate designs, she found the latch mechanism and triggered it. Pressing firmly in just the right place caused the wall to rotate silently, revealing a narrow, dark passageway. She slipped through the door and shut the access panel behind her. For centuries this palace had stood, home to the ruling families of Bangalore. And of its many secrets, the one that had been the most jealously guarded was the existence and access to the secret passageways that allowed the royal family to move unseen and unheard throughout the palace. More than once during their long history, these passageways had saved one or more of the rightful rulers from death at the hands of his enemies. Hopefully, this time they would save a good man and his family from the hands of yet another would-be despot.

Moving at a fast pace, she set off in search of Vijay Patel.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
The phone began to ring just as Arun Birla walked in the front door of his home. Waving off the servants, he picked up the phone himself. 

_"Namasté."_

"Tumhara naam kya hai?"

"Arun Birla."

"Sire! I did not expect . . . I would not have presumed . . ."

"Yes, yes," Birla replied irritably. "You have news?"

There was a perceptible pause. "Yes, Sire, but it is not all good . . ."

"Wait! I must move to another location. Give me a number where you can be reached and I will call you back as soon as I reach a secure telephone." The man rattled off a number, which Birla jotted down quickly. Hanging up the phone without another word, he turned and strode toward the back of the palatial residence. Entering an office/study, he locked the door behind him and sat down at the desk. He dialed the number the man gave him and waited. When the phone was answered, he started in without any preliminaries.

"Now, where is the girl?"

Again, that pause. Finally, the man sighed. "We believe she is dead."

"Dead! I did not send you there to kill her! I wanted her back in country. Where is the Sultan?"

"We do not know, Sire. There was an altercation on the street outside of the girl's apartment building. We attempted to take her from the Sultan, as you directed, but they fought back fiercely. Our leader had her and was holding the Sultan at bay when he directed us to retreat. We had reached the car when we heard the shot. I saw the girl fall and then the Sultan became crazed. He attacked our leader with his bare hands, screaming like a dervish. It was as though he was possessed by a devil! We could not stand against that, so we decided it was better to get away so that we could report back."

"You ran," Birla said in disgust. The man didn't respond. "What of the leader of your team? What happened to him?"

"He returned a short time ago. He was knocked senseless by the Sultan's attack. When he regained consciousness once more, all were gone."

"And the second team?"

"They report nothing . . . no sign of the Sultan or the girl."

Birla was ominously silent for some time. Finally, he asked, "Does the Sultan know who sent you to get the girl?"

"Our leader told him we were sent by the Regent, but the Sultan said that he did not believe it." 

Birla sat for a moment longer, considering the situation. Slowly, a nasty smile began to form. "This was not as I ordered, but I believe it can be turned to our advantage. Leave quickly and return here. Do _not_ get caught. I expect you to die before being taken, am I clear?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Then go!" Hanging up the phone, Birla sat back and contemplated his idea again. _Yes_, he thought, _this should work._ He wanted the Sultan back in Bangalore and now he saw exactly how to get him here. And once he had that arranged to his liking, he had business in the northern provinces . . . business he was _truly_ going to enjoy.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

  


Rajeev Subramanian rose stiffly and stared at the shattered remains of the main boom on the huge surface excavator dispassionately. If he was distressed by the damage, none of the men surrounding him could tell it.

"There is nothing that can be done with it," he announced calmly. "The falling pieces damaged the driver's compartment. We will have to dispose of it piece-by-piece. Get two of the trucks and the large earthmover and let us see if we can get it away from the mine entrance. I do not believe we will be able to do so, but it is worth attempting. Was anyone hurt?"

"No, sir," his foreman replied.

"Good. Equipment can be replaced . . . good people cannot." He looked around. "Where is Subir?"

Some low, angry murmurs greeted that question, and several of the men pointed toward a frame structure near the main entrance to the work site. Rajeev nodded. "Good enough. Let us see if this can be moved. If not, I will contact the company it was purchased from and see about getting a team out here to remove it."

"You are not considering shutting down here again because of this, are you?" the foreman objected.

Rajeev smiled with wry humor. "This sort of thing is getting to be somewhat commonplace, I am afraid . . . well, these things happen. Unfortunately, if we cannot get it clear of the entrance, we cannot risk men in the quarry. That is why we shall try to move it in pieces before we resort to that."

"We could work around it," the foreman volunteered. "I am sure that even if we asked for volunteers, we could get a more than adequate workforce."

But Rajeev shook his head. "I will not risk men in such a dangerous enterprise when there is no need. If it becomes necessary, we will shut this mine down until we can get the machine moved. In the meantime, you will look at the staffing schedules in the other mines and transport methods. We will need to find ways to keep the men working in other locations. They need the money."

"Yes, sir." Rajeev nodded and turned to walk toward the guard station where they indicated he would find Subir. He was careful to keep his expression pleasant and his stride even. He did not think it would be wise to allow the men to see his anger. This was the third such accident at this mine in a month's time . . . always with heavy equipment, and always at a place that caused the most problems, both in terms of getting it moved and of downtime in mine operations. In two of the three instances, Subir Rafiq had been operating the machine in question when it failed. This time, it had been idle at the time of the failure, but Subir had been the last one to use it . . . and the one that had parked it where it now sat.

Rajeev opened the door to the guard station and immediately spotted Subir. He sat with his feet propped comfortably on a desk and the chair in which he sat tilted back so his shoulders leaned against the wall. The guard, a new man who had only been working here for a few months, slouched at the desk lazily. Subir came to his feet as soon as he recognized who had entered. The guard, however, remained seated and simply stared at Rajeev silently.

"Father!" Subir exclaimed. "Were you searching for me?"

Rajeev winced internally at the name. From the day Subir had married his eldest daughter, the man had taken to referring to him in this fashion and nothing Rajeev had done since would break him of the habit. The worst part of it was that Subir did not do it to be deliberately antagonizing; rather, it was simply an outward expression of the way the man felt. Subir wasn't intelligent enough to be deceptive or sarcastic. Not for the first time, Rajeev praised God that Hadji Singh had stepped in and stopped him from marrying Kefira to this man. While he had no doubt that Subir treated his eldest daughter well, Kefira would have been ready to kill him within a week . . . or less.

"Yes, Subir, I was. We appear to have a problem with the excavator you were operating earlier this morning."

"A problem, Father? It was functioning perfectly when I left it."

"Did you leave a load in the shovel?"

"Yes, but that was because I had no where to dump it. We had been working on exposing the new face of stone on the south rim. The trucks became backed up due to an accident at the dump site. We did not realize there was a problem until all of the trucks were full and there was nowhere to dump the load I had. The foreman told me to go on break while the trucks dumped their loads, so I moved the machine out of their way and left it."

Rajeev sighed inwardly. Moved it out of the way of the trucks that were working with him, and blocked the egress to the open pit where the majority of his other co-workers were operating. The man had a one-track mind . . . he simply couldn't recognize that there were other workers that had to be considered.

"Do you wish for me to move it, Father?"

"I am afraid that it is too late for that. The boom on the main shovel has broken, destroying the control center. There is nothing more we can do now but attempt to drag it off to one side. Report to the foreman, Subir. He will put you to work at something else."

"Yes, sir." Subir shambled out of the guard station and Rajeev watched his progress across the open ground with regret. He wished he could fire the man. The fact was that he was a hazard . . . both to the other men as well as to himself. Unfortunately, the Rafiq family elders were not the same kind of fool as their son, and had taken steps to ensure that Subir had a job for as long as he chose to work.

When Hadji had called him to his audience chamber almost a year ago to demand an explanation concerning the marriage plans for Kefira, Rajeev had been congratulating himself on locating such a good situation for his wayward daughter. The Rafiq family was an old and influential one and the match looked to benefit both parties, both financially and personally. Rajeev had been able to use their desire for a spouse for their dull, unambitious son to negotiate an outstanding dowry price for the union. At the time, he had felt that Subir would make an excellent husband for Kefira, stifling those characteristics that he felt were inappropriate for a woman. That the family demanded a guaranteed job for life for their less than brilliant only son seemed a small price to pay. But that was before he had the chance to meet the new Sultan in person.

Their first meeting had been innocuous enough. He had appeared in the main audience chamber, as directed by the Lady Neela and her Advisory Council, on the pretext of seeking the Sultan's advice on an issue relating to mining exports. Hadji had been courteous, if somewhat inattentive, and Rajeev had gotten the distinct impression that Hadji hadn't heard a word he said. This, he was to find out later, was a long way from the truth. Not much escaped that young man's eye. The second time he had met the young Sultan was at the marriage candidate reception. That evening he had looked shell-shocked, and Rajeev had felt a pang of sympathy for him. He remembered all too well what it had been like the first time he had met his wife, Anila. Rajeev could tell that he was trying to be pleasant and attentive, but it had been a long and difficult evening for everyone concerned, and Rajeev noticed that Hadji disappeared as early as he possibly could.

And then there was their third meeting . . .

Rajeev stopped, gazing out across the open ground at the men who were struggling to try to move the large pieces of the shattered excavator. He remembered that confrontation as if it had occurred only that morning. The young Sultan had been late . . . deliberately late, he came to realize later . . . and when he did appear, he was furious . . . a fury leveled directly at the father of a girl he had met only twice, and both times more or less only in passing. Perhaps Rajeev would never understand the immediate rapport that his daughter shared with Hadji Singh, but there was no denying its existence. She seemed to transform in his presence, becoming both more feminine . . . a trait he had _never_ seen in her before . . . and more self-assured at the same time. Hadji listened to her seriously, never assuming that simply because she was female that she had nothing worthwhile to say; and he respected both her knowledge and her intelligence. Rajeev had watched in astonishment as his belovedly pesky middle child had blossomed into a self-confident, empowered young woman capable of handling the most recalcitrant of workers and yet still able to charm the most jaded of European buyers into deals that her father never would have dreamed of even attempting to negotiate.

Rajeev's only regret was the knowledge that, no matter what either of them said to the contrary, he knew that Kefira would never take up the family's business. If the Sultancy survived, she would be much too busy dealing with her responsibilities as Sultana and wife to the ruler of the country, to be involved in the day-to-day business of running the Subramanian mines. And should the Sultancy be dissolved in favor of some form of representative government . . . which was Hadji Singh's most fervent desire . . . Rajeev did not see the two of them remaining in Bangalore. The truth was that Hadji was not happy here, and hadn't been almost from the day he had discovered his true heritage. His mother might deny this, but no one else who had ever talked with the young man at any length would. He yearned for nothing more than to return to the life he had grown up with at the side of Benton Quest. Dr. Quest had opened horizons for Hadji that the people of Bangalore couldn't even begin to imagine. That's not to say that Hadji wouldn't be a good ruler . . . he had all of the right instincts and the determination to make them stick . . . it's just that he would never be truly happy doing it.

Rajeev sighed and continued on toward his office. He just wished that the political situation in the country were not so incendiary right now. For a long time, he had believed that if the Sultan would just come home to stay, things would settle down. But over the last several months he had come to realize that Hadji Singh was right . . . times had changed. With the advent of modern communications and global networks, the world had grown both infinitely smaller and yet increasingly larger. Even the most ignorant of the rural peoples had access to such things as telephones and televisions, if not at home then at least in a common location in the nearest village. And access to computers had grown at an astonishing pace. Every school in the nation now had at least one computer in every classroom, and all the students were expected to be able to use them. True, most of these modern conveniences hadn't reached the _homes_ of the people, but it was coming. With the enthusiastic response Hadji's programs had received, it was only a matter of time. For the first time in their lives, the people were being encouraged to look at more than just the job many of them had been raised to do since infancy or the small plot of land that they farmed. Not only that, but when Hadji was here, he made it a point to go out among his people. He asked their opinions and he listened. And more often than not, he acted on what he saw. Rather than money and goods flowing endlessly into the Royal Palace never to be seen again, money flowed into the palace and came out again in other forms . . . health care clinics, libraries, road construction, education, community projects, and a host of other things designed with only one purpose in mind . . . to improve the lives of the people in Bangalore. His grasping, clawing, power-hungry Advisory Council might not see the benefits of such programs, but the people certainly did . . . and they backed the young Sultan enthusiastically.

Unfortunately, that support had a down side as well. As Rajeev pointed out to Hadji not so long ago, the more you educate the populace, the more opinions they have and the less tolerant they become of old behaviors. Minor skirmishes had broken out throughout the country when old, wealthy, hard-line landowners tried to force the people living and working their property into behaving as they had done for centuries. Where the peasants used to accept that lot in life philosophically, now they knew better and were just as likely to refuse to accept the edicts of those landowners . . . sometimes in a violent fashion. One group had even attempted a labor strike not long ago. So that's where things stood today. It was the primary reason Rajeev had strongly insisted for some months that Hadji stay out of the country. Were he to come back, the people would rally around him, and an attempted assassination, which Rajeev was now almost 95% certain was being planned, would be the trigger for spontaneous combustion. Settling at his desk, he stared at the surface without really seeing it. _Well, I supposed you can say that it keeps life interesting,_ he thought dismally.

It was early afternoon by the time he finally gave in and acknowledged that there was no way they were going to be able to move the broken machinery. He called the manufacturer, explained the problem and arranged for a crew with special equipment to come in and collect the excavator. Unfortunately, it would be at least two weeks before they had anyone available who could do so. Reluctantly, he called his foreman in, arranged for a security staff for the site, and then closed it down. He assigned as many workers as possible to other locations, and the rest of them were notified that they would have the time off at half pay. None of them were disgruntled at the partial salary . . . anywhere else they would not have been paid at all.

Rajeev was in a sour mood by the time he arrived home, and all of the household servants recognized it the instant he walked through the door. They scurried out of his way hastily and the most senior of them immediately went looking for Anila. So he had been home less than five minutes when his wife appeared at his office door with a tray full of bite-sized morsels and a large pot of fresh, hot coffee. She served him deftly, not saying a word, but for some reason he suddenly felt better. He ate a few of the items she set in front of him and drank a cup of the coffee before he sighed and looked up at her with a wry smile.

"How is it you always seem to know what it is I need . . . exactly when I need it . . . even when I do not?"

She smiled at him fondly. "I have had a great many years of practice," she replied sedately. "Now, tell me what has happened."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Why do you assume something has happened?"

"Because you are home hours too early, you had not eaten, and you were extremely distressed. So what is it?"

After a moment, he told her about the accident with the equipment and the shutdown of the mine. When he finished, he shook his head. "This shutdown will be a serious problem, Anila. We have a major order for a building in England and our contract has a substantial penalty clause if we are late in delivery. This is the only mine we have that has the stone that will meet the specifications of the contract. Any further delays . . . of any kind . . . and we will be forced into default."

Anila sat on the nearby divan and thought about what her husband had told her for some time. Finally, she asked quietly, "Tell me, my husband. Are you so sure that the problems you are having are all accidental?"

"You have a suspicious mind," he replied. Then he sighed. "As do I. I have asked myself several times recently if it is just coincidence that all of these things have happened now . . . just as the negotiations for the contracts with Birla Exports are reaching the crucial stages. First the closing of the northern routes . . . then mining accidents and equipment failures . . . and now this." He leaned back thoughtfully. "Did I ever tell you that I suspected that the problem that closed the northern route was deliberate?"

"I know that it was."

"What!? How?"

"Kefira told me."

"_Kefira_ told you? And how does she know? I am aware that she feels she knows the geology of that area, but . . ."

Anila interrupted him. "She would never have based a statement of that sort on such a thin shred of evidence."

"Then how can she be so certain?"

"Because the road was not damaged in the rockfall. That occurred later."

Rajeev sat forward abruptly. "And how does she know _**that**_?" he demanded sternly.

It was Anila's turn to sigh. "Because she went up and looked at it . . . right after you received notification of the fall. She said that there were boulders lying in the middle of the road and there was a good deal of small debris and gravel, but the roadbed itself was undamaged."

"She . . . she went . . . _**ALONE????**_"

Anila nodded, careful not to allow her husband to see her amusement. Father and daughter were so much alike. Rajeev had wanted to go himself, but previously scheduled meetings on the export contracts had forced him to Bangalore City. By the time he was able to get up there . . . with an inspection team appointed by the Sultan's Advisory Council . . . the road had been totally destroyed.

"She said that she felt the upslope above the road had been deliberately dynamited, ensuring that the entire slope crumbled, taking the roadway with it, but she was unable to inspect it closely enough to be certain," she continued, unperturbed by her husband's obvious outrage.

"What ever possessed her to do such a thing?" he demanded. "What would have happened to her if one of those roving bands of marauders had captured her?"

"They did not do so," Anila replied practically, "and she said that the inspection needed to be made. Since you were unable to do it yourself, she chose to do it for you."

Rajeev leaned back in his chair weakly. "Have I ever told you how glad I am that the Sultan convinced me to send her away to school? I do not believe I would have survived her young adult years otherwise. And I still may not."

Anila laughed as she rose. "Yes, and you miss her terribly."

"More than I even care to admit."

She smiled and came to the desk to collect the dishes. "She is happy, my husband. That is what is important. Now, I will leave you to go back to work. There are things that I should be doing and they do not include sitting in your office annoying you."

He caught her hand and kissed it gently. "You never annoy me . . . you keep me sane."

She squeezed his hand and then released it and picked up the tray. "I will call you when dinner is ready."

It was some hours later when a commotion from the back of the house drew her out of the sewing room. Stepping out into the back courtyard, she saw one the boys from a family that lived further down into the valley. He was desperately trying to reach the house, while one of the household servants scolded him and tried to chase him away. Calling to the woman to release the boy, she gestured to him. He ran up to her, panting and babbling frantically.

"Coming . . . cars . . . on the road . . . many men!" The boy was positively rigid with fear and nothing that he was saying made any sense at all. She was attempting to calm him when, suddenly, one word stood out clearly and froze her where she stood. _**"Janissaries!"**_

Anila could literally feel the color drain from her face. The Janissaries were banned . . . by order of the Sultan! But if the boy was right . . .

She snapped an order at him that sent him running back toward home and then whirled and swept back into the house. As she passed the head houseman, she directed him to find Maia and Srinivasan and send them to the kitchen to wait for her. Then she went directly to her husband's study. Without even bothering to knock, she burst in and said, "Prepare yourself. We are about to have visitors . . . and I am told they include members of the Janissary."

Rajeev leaped to his feet and strode swiftly from the room. Mounting the steps to the second floor three at a time, he went directly to the large window that overlooked the front courtyard and the approach road to the house. Further down in the valley, he spotted a telltale plume of dust that signaled the approach of a number of vehicles. Turning back to Anila, who had followed him up the stairs, he said briskly, "Clear the servants from the front of the house. I do not want them encountering anyone that they might think they can use to set an example to others. Also, get the children out and as far away from here as you can. I do not doubt that they would not hesitate to use one of them to try to get me to do what they wish."

"But what do they want?" Anila said helplessly. "We have done nothing wrong. Janissaries . . . they are not even supposed to be allowed in the country."

Rajeev smiled grimly. "I support the poor people. That is enough for some. As for the Janissaries . . . there are those in the palace that once again support them. It was only a matter of time before they arrived here." He grasped her by the shoulders, looking down into her face seriously. "Should something happen, you are to take the children and go to Mumbai . . . to the business of Zail Lakshmanan. He and I have done business for a long time and can be trusted. Contact Sumant if you can. If not, then Kefira."

"But . . ."

He overrode her ruthlessly. "The message to both of them is the same . . . the Sultan must _**NOT**_ return here, and he is to watch his back. They look to assassinate him and will stop at nothing." He stopped, thinking hard. Finally, he looked her straight in the eyes. "Then, you are to appeal to Dr. Benton Quest for sanctuary. I have no doubt that he will see to your safety and that of the children. Do you understand all of this?"

"But, Rajeev . . ." He could see fear stark in her face, but she struggled bravely to assimilate all he had told her.

"You must do as I say, Anila. I do not know why they are here, but this cannot be good. The presence of the Janissaries has only been a rumor to this point. If they are on my doorstep it can only mean that the men behind them are prepared to come out into the open, because they must know that I am loyal to the Sultan and will be sure to notify him of their reappearance. Now go . . . quickly. There is little time!"

She stared at him for a moment longer, then stepped forward, threw her arms around him, kissed him hard on the mouth, and then turned and fled down the stairs. Rajeev watched until she disappeared through the archway on the far side of the room, and then turned back to the window. His visitors seemed to be in some haste. All the better. Haste on the entry road to his home generally meant it would take twice as long to arrive . . . particularly if you didn't know the road. He watched as the roiling cloud of dust that marked their advanced seemed to check and hover stationary about a half a mile from the house. Rajeev smiled in grim amusement, suddenly grateful that he had never gotten around to replacing the narrow, rickety bridge at the base of the hill that crossed the small river that supplied their water. The bridge was not visible until you turned the sharp corner and then it was right there. Too much speed and you missed it altogether, landing in the river itself, or you struck one of the bridge abutments and ended up blocking the bridge until you could get it cleared. Hopefully, that error would give Anila the time she needed to get the children and herself to safety.

Turning, he descended to the first floor again. Crossing to the front door, he moved out into the front courtyard and stopped near the central fountain. All around, Anila's carefully tended flowers provided brilliant splashes of color amid the rippling sound of water and the sense of quiet peace. He only hoped that sense of peace was capable of tempering the coming confrontation.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

  


Under normal circumstances, Neela Singh, the Royal Regent and mother of the Sultan of Bangalore, did not have to go searching for people. When she wanted to speak with someone, she simply summoned them, either to the main throne room or to her private office, and they appeared as commanded. Unfortunately, things were a long way from normal, and Neela was forced into searching the palace for Vijay Patel. She was seriously handicapped by two factors. The first was that she didn't dare allow anyone to realize that she was looking for him. If she were to go searching for Vijay openly, everyone in the palace . . . including her son's enemies . . . would know of it long before she ever managed to locate him.

The second factor was that once she did locate Vijay, she couldn't allow anyone to know the nature of their conversation. Neela couldn't be certain, but she felt it likely that if her phones were monitored, then all of the normal places that she frequented probably were as well. Video surveillance was improbable, but it would be a very quick and simple matter to place listening devices about the palace. As a protection to both of them, Neela had to be certain they were neither seen nor overheard, and that would be very difficult to achieve.

But first, she had to find the man. There wasn't a single room in the entire palace which could not be accessed through the myriad of clandestine passageways that honeycombed the old palace. She began her search with those locations where she thought Vijay would most likely be found . . . the various meeting rooms, the personal quarters that had been assigned to him, the office suite that he and his staff used, the main reception hall near the throne room, the dining center, and finally, even the antechamber of her own offices. She was unable to locate him in any of those places.

Next, she tried some of the less frequently visited places . . . the distant guest quarters that were used to house the poorer petitioners, the private offices of other Council members - though doing that made her extremely uneasy . . . she could almost feel the shades of Vikram and Deepak at her back - the women's quarters - although what he would be doing _there_ - and the various inner courtyards, but she still had no success. Finally, she decided that she would simply be forced to return to Vijay's office and do something she had always sworn she would not do . . . eavesdrop. Unfortunately, by the time she made that decision, it was noon, and when she returned to his office, she found the entire staff had departed to get something to eat. It occurred to her that perhaps she could do the same . . . and by listening in on conversations in the dining center, she might determine where she could find Councilman Patel.

Unfortunately, by this time, she was utterly filthy. Taking the more commonly used passages was one thing, but many of the ones she had prowled that morning had not been used in years and the dust and grime were formidable. With as much haste as she dared, she returned through the passageways to her own quarters to wash up. As she changed clothes, she gave heartfelt thanks that she had taken up the habit of wearing nothing but white. No one would notice that she was not wearing the clothing that she had worn when she entered her office that morning.

Returning to her office, she unlocked the door and strode out determinedly. "I am going to get something to eat. I shall return." 

Her staff looked at her in amazement. "B-b-b-but Excellency . . . there are people . . . they would be happy to bring something to you . . ."

Neela was momentarily flustered, but she recovered quickly. "I have been shut up all day, working on this report, and I need to get out of the office for a short time. I shall return after I have eaten."

"Yes, Excellency . . ."

As Neela walked away, she smiled to herself and sent heartfelt thanks out to her long dead husband. Many years ago, Haresh had given her the best advice she had ever received. "Always act as though you know exactly what you are doing, my wife, even if you do not. If you do so, no one will ever question your actions."

She left as quickly as she could, trying desperately to curb her anxiety. When she reached the dining area, she scanned the crowd, but there was no sign of Vijay Patel. She moved sedately through the crowds, stopping frequently to speak with various individuals and groups. Many looked surprised, but at least superficially, everyone appeared pleased to see her there. She did not miss the heightened sense of tension, however. Everyone was on edge. You could feel it in the too-bright chatter and the slightly shrill tones. There was also a marked lack of discussion of important topics. Virtually everything she overhead was social gossip or events totally unrelated to Bangalore. The old defense mechanism had snapped into place once again . . . allow no one to hear you discuss _anything_ that might get back to the ear of the powerful and cause them to become displeased with you. Hadji had been right once again. She should have been down among these people on a daily basis, rather than remaining isolated in her lofty position of power. Now, she was an outsider . . . one of the ones to be feared. None of them were going to talk with her about anything of significance . . . at least not honestly.

"But surely Vijay can do something!"

The voice had been hushed, but its urgency caused it to carry to her over the buzz of conversation in the large room. Neela was standing at the edge of the room on the far side opposite the main door. It had taken her almost half an hour to work her way to this place, and in that time she had heard nothing that would indicate the location of the man she was searching for. Now, she faded back into one of the groupings of large plants that were scattered at intervals throughout the room. She was lucky that this particular one also screened an entrance back into the hidden passageways, and she faded into its dimness deftly, leaving the access cracked just enough for the speaker's words to filter through to her.

"He is trying," another man replied in the same tone. "But it is difficult. The Janissaries seem to be everywhere! He dares not move too openly for fear there will be reprisals."

"He is one of the Council," the first man objected, his voice rising slightly. "They would not dare move against him!"

"Keep your voice down!" the other hissed. "We will be overheard!" After a moment, the voice continued, and Neela had to strain to hear it. "They may not move openly against him, but he has small children. It is said that the Janissaries are back to their old tricks once more. They are stealing children to build their ranks. Many young boys have disappeared from the villages . . . particularly from Panjal province and the surrounding areas. It is not unreasonable for him to fear for their safety, particularly since he has three strong sons."

_Panjal Province,_ Neela thought as her fear grew sharply. _Rajeev Subramanian's home province. Birla is already there . . . set up and ready to move. I** must** find Vijay Patel **NOW!**_ Suddenly, her attention snapped back to the conversation again as she heard one of them say,

" . . . just returned. He had been out on the edge of the City talking with some of the merchants. I have a meeting scheduled with him later this afternoon . . ."

Pulling the access panel fully shut behind her, Neela turned and fled up the passageway, feeling her way in the darkness. She had no time! She had to find Vijay now, before it was too late.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
It had been a frustrating morning and Vijay Patel was in a foul mood. He had left the Royal Palace early, hoping to reach some of the export merchants before they became deeply involved in business for the day. For some months . . . ever since the "rockslide" that destroyed the northern export routes . . . he had been quietly working to find a way to develop new paths for getting goods out of Bangalore. His campaign had two purposes . . . one was to find a cheaper alternative for getting goods out of both the city and the country, eliminating Birla's network and his exorbitant fees, and increasing the profit margin for the people who truly needed the money; and the other was to continue his subtle campaign to undermine Arun Birla's lock on what could enter or leave the country, which made up much of his power base. 

It had been a wasted trip. Fear was running too high. Word had reached the city of the reappearance of the Janissaries in the countryside and no one was willing to even speak to him. He had spent most of the morning at it with absolutely no success. Now he was back in the palace, tired, irritable, very hungry, and facing a full afternoon of meetings that promised to be just as frustrating as the morning had been. He closed the door to his quarters and strode swiftly up the corridor, heading for the dining area. He would get something to eat, pick up what gossip he could, and then go to his office for his first meeting.

In an effort to avoid being delayed, Vijay cut through one of the inner courtyards and used the corridors that led past the throne room. With the Sultan out of the country, those rooms weren't used much and he knew that the passageways would be quiet. He was crossing the large waiting area just up the passage from the throne room when the Lady Neela seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He stopped sharply and began the requisite bow, but with three swift strides, she crossed to him, snatched at his arm and began dragging him toward a large wall hanging not far away.

"Excel . . ."

"Quiet!" she hissed sharply. "Follow me and don't ask questions. There is not much time . . ."

Looking around swiftly, she flicked the wall hanging aside and pushed sharply at the wall behind it. To Vijay's astonishment, a section of it gave way, and Neela drew him with her into the darkness.

"What . . . " he began, balking as the panel snapped closed behind him. His eyes were just beginning to adjust to the darkness when a flashlight flared to life, casting weird shadows on the walls.

"Not here," she whispered urgently. "These passageways run too close to frequently used corridors, and listening devices may pick up our conversation. Follow me and I will explain as soon as we reach a place of relative safety." She turned and swept off without another word. After a brief hesitation, Vijay followed her. She moved through the passageways quickly, seeming to know exactly where she was heading. Wider, relatively clean passages gradually gave way to narrow, grimy corridors that obviously had not been used in years. He quickly lost all sense of direction in the darkness and by the time she finally stopped, he had no idea where he was.

As Neela turned back to him once more, he drew himself up firmly and demanded, "What is going on, Excellency? What is this place? Where am I, and what do you want with me?" The words came out much more sharply than he intended, fed by the fear that had been growing ever since the secret door had closed behind him. He was not so young that he didn't remember the tales of people who used to mysteriously disappear from within the royal palace and were never seen again.

As though reading his mind, Neela smiled . . . but there was no humor in it. "No, Mr. Patel, I have not led you here so that you can disappear. Believe me when I say that I have had enough of that to last me five lifetimes. Rather, I have need of your services. The errand is urgent and there is no time to waste."

Vijay sketched a shallow bow. "I would be happy to serve, Excellency, but I do not believe it can be done today. I have appointments scheduled for the entire afternoon, and . . ."

"Do you wish to see Rajeev Subramanian as a prisoner, Mr. Patel?"

**_"WHAT?!"_** he exclaimed sharply. Forgetting proper behavior, he reached out and gripped her by the arms tightly. "What are you talking about?"

"Arun Birla moves against him. If he is not warned . . ." Vijay could feel the shudder that ran through her. "I do not wish to think of what might happen."

"Since when have you been concerned about Rajeev's welfare?" he demanded harshly.

Anger flared as she threw off his hands. "Have a care, Mr. Patel. I will grant you certain latitude because my son trusts you, but do not push me. As for Mr. Subramanian, I concern myself with him because his daughter will be my son's wife. Mr. Birla is going to take Kefira's family and hold them hostage, forcing her to return to this country. He knows that if she returns here, my son is sure to follow. This must not happen."

"I thought you agreed with Mr. Birla that the Sultan belongs here, " Vijay replied bitterly.

"I will not have my son end his days in the same way as his father!" she snapped. "I have no one else that I know I can trust. Time runs short already. Will you go or must I risk everything and try to find someone else whose loyalty I cannot rely on?"

Vijay stared at her, belief growing. "Have you attempted to telephone him . . . warn him . . ."

Neela shook her head sharply. "No! The phones in the palace are monitored." She smiled grimly at his expression. "Yes, I am certain. I have learned it the hard way . . . and it is what has precipitated this crisis. You _**must**_ go . . . _**NOW**_ . . . or it will be too late."

Vijay thought quickly. He had no choice but to trust her. He couldn't risk Rajeev's life on the gamble that she was setting him up for some elaborate trap. No matter how far apart the two of them had been on issues, he simply could not believe that Neela Singh would ever resort to something like that.

"Very well. I will go. But the men I am to meet with today are not ones that should be alienated. Messages must be sent to them giving them some excuse why I cannot meet with them." Vijay routed in his pockets quickly and came up with a small pad of paper and a pen. He jotted a hasty note on the pad, then pulled it off and handed it to her. "I have a young assistant named Mahavir. He is a nephew and can be trusted. Give this note to him and instruct him to write notes to the men I am to meet with this afternoon, canceling my meetings. He is good at imitating my handwriting and no one will question messages that come by his hand from me." Neela took the note and nodded quickly. "Where am I and how do I get out of here?"

"You are on the far north side of the palace, down near the old tradesmen's entrance. This passage will open into the corridor that leads to a back door. Many years ago, it was the main trade entrance out of the mountains, and was along the Pilgrim's trail. With the advent of trucks and motorized traffic, it has been largely shut down." She reached into her clothing and produced a ring with a set of keys. "This will open the back postern door. There is a path that runs along the outer wall of the palace. Several hundred feet to the right of the door you will see a grove of trees with a path that leads into them. That path will take you up into the mountains away from the palace and the city. This is the best I can do for you. I must leave it to you to find a way to get safely away from here."

Vijay nodded. "As long as I can get out of the palace unseen, I have my ways of getting away quickly." It was his turn to smile humorlessly. "I have been expecting an explosion for quite some time now, Excellency, and I have a family to be concerned with. I am not unprepared for hasty exits."

Approval gleamed in her eyes, as she replied, "My son chooses his allies well. Go quickly. I will see that this message gets delivered and I will do my best to slow the storm that is coming."

Vijay hesitated briefly. "Move with care, Excellency. Birla is a ruthless and unprincipled man who will stop at nothing to get what he wishes. The Sultan has lost enough years with you already. I do not believe he would be happy should something happen to you now."

Neela smiled. "I will remember." Stepping up to the wall quickly, she slid a small, eye-level panel aside and peered into the resulting slot carefully. Then, closing it, she reached down and flicked a latch, causing a crack to appear in the passageway wall. Pushing the door open, she stepped aside and said softly, "Go with God, Mr. Patel."

He nodded quickly and then was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

  


As Anila fled down the stairs, she fought desperately to control her fear. If she panicked now, the children would be lost. Her husband had given her instructions and she would carry those out without fail. She swept through the back of the house, snapping orders that sent the servants scurrying. Her husband was right about one thing . . . if it truly was the Janissaries on their doorstep, and they did not accomplish what they had set out to do, they would surely take their anger out on whomever they could lay their hands on. She wanted everyone safely out of sight and harm's way.

She erupted into the kitchen to find Maia and Srinivasan waiting for her. Her son was dressed in a rough and tumble fashion and it was obvious that he had been playing in the dirt in the courtyard again. His clothing would hold up to a long journey. Her youngest daughter was a different story. She was dressed neatly in a soft blue sari, her hair long and loose and a pair of soft leather scuff shoes on her feet. Anila was dressed similarly, and gazing at her daughter, she knew that they would never survive a trip through the mountains dressed in this fashion. Snapping at them to follow her, she moved hastily into a nearby room. Grabbing a burlap sack that they used to gather laundry, she began throwing things into it.

Unlike most households, she did not make it a point to segregate the clothing of the servants from that of the family. They were allowed to lauder it all at the same time, and Anila gave thanks now for that habit. Ignoring the finer garments that her family normally wore, she searched for the drabber, sturdy, everyday wear of their servants. With little time to spare, she could not be picky, ensuring only that she got one set of good clothes and two sets suitable for traveling for each of them. Taking the bag, she thrust it into the arms of her daughter with a command for her to bring it and then set off for another room where she added three blankets to the things her daughter carried.

"Mother, what are you doing?" Maia asked, sounding bewildered.

"Not now, daughter. Just move quickly and do as you are told." She snatched up another bag and began throwing rudimentary foodstuffs into it . . . some bread, dried fruit, some dried meats that the men often took with them to the mines . . . anything that would keep them going in their run from the rising tide of war. Thrusting this at Srinivasan, she turned and grabbed two bottles, which she quickly filled with water.

"But Mother . . . " Maia tried again.

This time it was her five-year-old son that responded. "Bad men are coming," he said with a conviction that caused Anila to whirl and stare at him.

"What do you know of the bad men, my son?"

"That they hurt people," he replied. "And that they do things that no one wants to talk about." He faltered, suddenly looking small and frightened. "They hurt Nasim's sister . . . he would not tell me what they did, but he was very angry . . ."

Anila closed her eyes in pain. Nasim . . . the 13-year-old stable boy who cared for the family's horses. He had a sister two years older than he, who lived with their parents down near the border . . . in the area where the bandits had been seen so frequently . . . _That could happen to Maia,_ she thought and the idea sickened her.

"Listen to me, both of you. Srinivasan is correct. There are bad men coming. Your father has directed us to leave. We must make haste. I have one other thing I must get, and then we will leave by the back door through the garden. Once we leave this house you must move quickly and in absolute silence. Do you understand?"

"But what of Father?" Maia protested.

"I want to stay with Father," Srinivasan insisted.

"No! That is not our decision to make. He has directed that we leave and we must follow his orders". She scanned her daughter's attire once more. "Do you have sturdy shoes near at hand, daughter? Those will not do."

Staring at her mother, Anila could see the understanding of the gravity of the situation finally register. Dropping the bundle she held, she said, "I have a set of riding clothes by the back door. I will change while you gather the other items."

Without another word, Anila turned and ran back toward the front of the house. As she passed through the hallway behind the wall that formed the main entry to the house, she heard the door open and close once again. Rajeev had gone to meet their approaching visitors. She was running out of time. She reached a door at the far side of the house. Fumbling with the ring of keys that hung from a belt she always wore around the house, she inserted a key into the lock and flung the door open. Here they stored items that we unsafe to have around the small children that often filled the house. Small mining equipment in various states of repair, blasting apparatus that were in transit from one place to another, and a host of other things filled the room. Crossing swiftly, she pulled out another key and unlocked a large cabinet that stood along one wall. Throwing the doors open, she surveyed the assortment of weapons that filled the cabinet. With only a second's thought, she grabbed a high-powered automatic rifle and two smaller handguns, including the HK USP nine-millimeter pistol that was Kefira's weapon of choice. Grabbing two boxes of shells for the rifle and additional ammunition clips for both handguns, she closed the cabinet, locked it securely once more, and then returned to her children.

She found them standing just inside the door that led to the outer courtyard. Maia was now dressed in sturdy riding pants, a long sleeved shirt, a waist-length vest, and knee-high riding boots. Her hair had been pulled back sharply from her face and now hung down her back in a tight braid. As Anila strode up, she held out a similar set of clothing to her mother, but Anila shook her head. 

"There is no time. Bring it along and I will change when we are away from here." She handed the smaller of the two handguns and a shoulder holster to her daughter. "Take great care with this, Maia," she warned, "and use it only under the most desperate of circumstances." The girl nodded and slipped into the holster quickly, seating the gun securely once it was properly fastened. Once again Anila gave thanks to the higher powers for her husband's foresight in teaching all of their children to handle weapons properly. "Now, quickly, we must go."

She led them out the door and across the inner courtyard to the gate that led to the garden court. Moving through it quickly, she skirted the garden and approached the gate that opened out into the wild land beyond. She was just reaching for the lock when voices from outside the wall reached her.

"It is here," a man's voice said urgently in Hindi.

"I do not like it," another replied in the same language. "We should enter from several different locations in case it is a trap."

"The house is too well defended," the first man replied. "The commander said a team must enter from the back and this is the only way in we have found. We have no choice but to go through the wall here."

"They should have warned us we would need to scale walls," a third man grumbled. "At least we would have come equipped."

"Enough!" a new voice snapped in a soft, commanding voice. "Check to see if the gate is locked. If it is, then we must break it down."

Anila grabbed at the two children and dragged them away from the gate frantically. This was a full scale assault on the house, down to the flanking maneuvers. There was no way they would be able to get out now . . . unless . . .

Dragging the children down into a crouch with her next to a tall stand of vining squash, she hissed at them, "Listen to me! The men at the gate are our enemies. You must do exactly as I tell you, do you understand me?" Both children nodded, their eyes wide. "You are to crawl into the vines here and remain very still. Not a sound. Those men will be coming through the gate very soon, but they will not linger here. When they have gone, you are to slip out of here and go out of the gate and up into the countryside. Maia, you know where the high pasture is?" The girl nodded. "You are to take your brother and make your way up there as quickly as you can. Do not look back and do not stop, do you understand? When you get there, you will wait until nightfall. Hide. Do not allow yourself to be seen." She took a deep breath and stared straight into her daughter's eyes. "If your father or I have not come to get you by nightfall, you are to take horses and you are to ride as swiftly as the wind for the pass that leads over the southeast mountains and down toward Delhi. Stay out of sight as much as you can, and trust no one. When you get to Delhi, you are to go to the train station and purchase two tickets for Mumbai on the first train out of there. Do not voice your names or talk to anyone. It is extremely important. When you reach Mumbai, you are to go directly to the home of Zail Lakshmanan." She thrust a piece of paper and a fistful of money into the girl's hands. "The address is here. You are to say to him that enemies have beset your father, and ask for his assistance. Then you are to contact your sister in America and say these words to her, "War is come, the Sultan is not to return under any circumstances, and Rajeev begs shelter for his children from Dr. Benton Quest." Do you understand this? Maia, tell me. What are you to say to your sister?"

"I am to say to her that war is come . . . that the Sultan is not to return here, and that Father asks for shelter for Srinivasan and I from Dr. Quest."

"The Sultan is not to return _under any circumstances_. That is important, Maia."

"Yes, Mother. I will remember," she whispered. Loud blows on the gate warned Anila that time was growing short. She unslung the rifle from her shoulder and handed both it and the other handgun to her daughter. Laying her hand against her cheek, she looked at Maia for a brief instant. The girl could see tears shimmering in her eyes as she whispered softly, "Go with God, child. May he keep both of you safe." She hugged her son swiftly and then shoved them both toward the tangle of growing plants. Rising, she straightened her sari and then walked to the gate. The children watched in horror as she composed herself, then stepped up, unlocked the gate, and opened it to the invaders. Feigning surprise, she said,

"May I help you?"

Six men surged through the open gate. One grabbed her arm and dragged her off to one side as the others brought rifles to bear and scanned the garden courtyard alertly. The apparent tranquility seemed to disconcert them.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Everyone else?" she asked, sounding bewildered. "There is none here but myself, the household servants, the children, and my husband."

"Where are they?" the man demanded once again.

"The servants are within the house at various tasks. At this time of day, all of the children will be in the study room with their tutor . . . "

"Your children?" 

She looked from one of them to another, appearing somewhat dimwitted. "Yes, and the others. My husband insists that all of the children learn to read and write. . . "

"And where is your husband?"

"The last I knew he was in his study . . ."

Grabbing her by the arm, he shoved her toward the house. "Show me," he demanded harshly. Turning to the others, he ordered, "Check the house. Gather up those you find and lock them up in a room in the middle of the house . . . one with no windows. No one is to be prowling the house." The men fanned out, heading for the house as the man who had been speaking . . . obviously the leader of this group of men . . . dragged Anila into the house. "Take me to your husband . . ."

Then they were gone, leaving nothing behind but silence.

Maia and Srinivasan remained hidden for several moments after the men left, waiting to see if they would reappear again. Finally, Maia crept out of her hiding place and looked around carefully. When she found no sign of the invaders, she reached out and, dragging her younger brother out of the screen of plants, the two of them ran for the gate. Stopping just inside, Maia stuck her head out carefully and looked around. Seeing no one else, the two crouched low and sprinted across the open ground and into the rocky cover of the surrounding land. They had no more than reached a safe hiding place when two of the men who had entered the house returned to the garden. As the two of them crouched behind a large boulder watching the back of the house, one of the men closed the gate and they heard the lock slide home with a finality that made both of the shudder. After a moment, Maia reached out and caught her brother's hand. Shouldering the rifle, she picked up the two bags her mother had filled and the two of them crept away into the countryside. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Rajeev was waiting by the front gate when the two small trucks and the elegant black car with the darkened windows pulled up in front of the house. Rajeev's expression turned grim as he gazed at the car. He recognized that vehicle without so much as a second look. So Arun Birla had come himself . . . with a contingent of his pet enforcers. Something had happened, of that he was now certain. He just hoped that Anila and the other children had managed to get away. 

The armed men confronted him, their weapons level at him threateningly. He raised his hands peacefully, and said quietly, "There is no need for weapons, gentlemen. You will meet no resistance here. How my I help you?" A rustle of movement behind them marked the approach of someone else. The men parted in the middle and suddenly Rajeev found himself face-to-face with Arun Birla. The two men gazed at each other, a silent war of wills occurring as they each waited for the other to speak first. Finally, Birla cleared his throat and said,

"Mr. Subramanian, I will talk with you."

Rajeev spread his hands and gestured magnanimously. "I hear you, Mr. Birla. What is it that you wish to say?"

The tone of his voice caused Birla to frown. "You would do well to watch your tone. More respect would go a long way in keeping you and your family in my favor."

"Respect is earned, not demanded," Rajeev replied evenly. "You come to my home without an invitation, with a contingent of armed men . . . men belonging to an order that has been banned in this country, I might add . . . and then you demand respect from me? I find it difficult to accommodate you, Mr. Birla. But you are here . . . so what is it that you want?"

Birla's eyes darkened in anger, but controlling himself, he grinned nastily. "Why, I am here to do you a favor, Mr. Subramanian. I am here to take your family to safety at the palace. It has become necessary for your middle daughter to return to this country to begin living the life appropriate for her station. The Regent and I understand that this will be difficult for her, so it has been decided that you will all join her there to keep her company."

"My daughter will object to having her studies disrupted," Rajeev replied unemotionally, but inside he could feel himself tense. _Kefira_ . . . he thought with despair.

"Her studies are no longer of importance. She will be Sultana. Her behavior in the past has been unacceptable, so now we must insist that she learn that role."

"Why are you so certain that my daughter will be Sultana?" Rajeev demanded. "There has been no marriage contract . . . or even talk of a dowry price. How do you know what I do not?"

"Because it has been officially announced by the palace earlier today. Word has spread like wildfire. The story has been picked up by all of the news services, and the congratulatory messages are already beginning to pour in. I am surprised that your telephone has not been driving you mad. Oh, but I forget . . . your phone cannot ring . . . it is not operational."

"And how do you know that?" Rajeev asked with outward calmness, but he could feel the dryness of his mouth and he began to sweat.

Birla waved negligently. "Why, because I had my men disable it some hours ago. I wanted to be the one to bring you the good news, so I could hardly allow anyone to call and tell you first, now could I?"

A commotion behind him caused Rajeev turn suddenly. Two men exited the house dragging his unresisting wife with them. Breaking free from the man who clutched her arm, she crossed to Rajeev at a run. He caught Anila against him, and held her comfortingly, the despair growing. She did not get away, so now he was faced with trying to protect them as well as trying to find a way out of this. He knew the young Sultan well enough to know that if Kefira were brought back to Bangalore, Hadji Singh would follow . . . no matter the risk to himself. It was also likely that he would come if he were to find Rajeev and his family in danger. So, one way or the other, he needed to find a way out of this situation. And right now, the only way out appeared to be capitulation.

"Very well," he said quietly. "We will do as you ask."

Birla smiled in satisfaction. "Excellent. I knew you could be made to see reason."

"What of those in the house, Excellency?" the man who had brought Anila, questioned.

Birla shrugged negligently. "They are of no concern to me. Do with them what you will."

A grin of unholy glee split the man's face and he turned back toward the house in anticipation. This was more than Anila could stand. Breaking free from her husband, she lunged toward the man frantically, "No! You cannot! They are just children . . ." It was never clear what her intention actually was, but she lurched into the man she was chasing, causing him to stagger. With a snarl, he turned to backhand her sharply just as Rajeev jumped forward to try to draw her back out of harm's way. As the man lashed out at Anila, the full sleeve of his uniform caught on the grip of the pistol at his belt, pulling it free. One of the others, seeing the gun falling free, cried out in alarm and the others reacted without further thought. The sound of gunfire was clear in the late afternoon air, and when silence descended again, both Rajeev and Anila lay lifeless in the dirt.

Birla rose from his defensive position behind one of the vehicles and came to stand looking down at the two. After a moment, he looked up at the leader of the Janissaries and shrugged. "Ah well, what can you do? This has probably solved some future problems for us. And I'm sure this will cause the Sultan to return without any delay." He turned away. "Come, let us go."

"What about them?" the leader inquired, nodding toward the Subramanians.

"Leave them." Birla glanced up at the sky. "They will provide food for the wildlife . . . as well as a good lesson for those who looked to them for shelter."

"And those inside?"

Birla glanced at the house and then back to the captain of his forces. "The children are still in it?" The man nodded. "Then let us finish the job. Burn it down. We will eradicate the Subramanian family once and for all." He turned to another man standing nearby. "Call ahead and notify our people in the city. I want Sumant Subramanian and his family found and eliminated. That will leave only the girl, and we can get her at our leisure." Without another look, he returned to his car and before long, the vehicle moved away, leaving behind them nothing but flames and death. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
On the mountainside, high above the house, Maia Subramanian watched as Arun Birla and his men drove away, leaving her parents lying on the ground and her home in flames. A rage was building inside the girl. She had always been more interested in the spiritual than she had the world around her. Violence had seemed distant and more than a little distasteful. But all of that had changed now. War had come, her mother had said to her. Before, those had been nothing but empty words . . . abstract concepts that hadn't seemed real. Now, she understood them all too well. She watched the departing car with a fever born of a fierce desire for revenge. Beside her, Srinivasan whimpered. She had a job to do . . . one her mother had entrusted to her . . . and she wouldn't fail. But before this was all over, someone would pay . . . one way or the other.   


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
The raging inferno was beginning to die away by the time Vijay Patel topped the rise onto the plateau where the Subramanian home had once stood. As he watched, the roof collapsed, sending sparks spiraling skyward. He stumbled from his car and took a few hesitant steps forward, staring at it in horror. It took him a minute to spot the body that lay in front of the house. He ran forward and dropped to his knees beside the prone figure. With gentle hands, he turned the body over and he could feel tears of anger and grief boil up as he looked down at Anila Subramanian. With a trembling hand, he reached down and closed her eyes gently. It took him a minute to spot the trail of blood that led back toward the house. Stumbling to his feet again, he followed it as it disappeared around the corner of the wall that formed the outer courtyard that ran around the house. He found Rajeev about 30 feet from the corner. Kneeling beside the body, he rolled the man over and was rewarded by Rajeev's eyes flickering open slowly. It took him a minute to focus on the man above him. 

"Vijay?" he whispered hoarsely. Pink froth formed at the corner of his mouth and Vijay could hear a bubbling sound as Rajeev struggled to breathe.

"Quietly, my friend. We must get you out of here and to medical help."

Rajeev shook his head slowly. "No," he whispered. "There is no point. It is . . . " a wracking cough seized him, and he struggled desperately to breathe. " . . . too late," he finally managed. "Listen . . . to me . . . Vijay. There are . . . things . . . you have . . . to know."

"Who did this?" Vijay demanded fiercely.

"Arun . . . Birla," he managed. "Janissaries. Came to take . . . us . . . to the . . . palace. Use us . . . to . . . force my . . . " Again, he began to cough, and Vijay sank to the ground and raised Rajeev into his arms gently. The elevated position seemed to ease his breathing, and after a moment, he continued, " . . . Kefira . . . to come home . . . Then, he . . . plans to . . . use . . . her to force . . . the Sultan . . . back to . . . Bangalore. Will kill . . . him." Rajeev's eyes drooped and for a moment, Vijay thought he was gone. Then he roused once more. "It is coming . . . Vijay . . . "

"What is coming, my friend?" Vijay whispered, knowing that there was no hope for this man.

"War," Rajeev replied with an effort. "Will be . . . no . . . stopping it . . . now. You must . . . protect . . . protect . . . " He was fading and Vijay knew he couldn't last much longer. Finally, he continued, " . . . the Sultan. He is . . . the only . . . hope . . . for our . . . people."

"You have my word, Rajeev. I will guard him with my life." Rajeev nodded and then fell silent. Vijay eased him to the ground again gently and sat beside him without saying a word. Finally, he opened his eyes again and whispered, "Anila?"

Wordlessly, Vijay shook his head. Rajeev's eyes closed again and the younger man could see the grief that etched his face. Finally, Vijay managed, "Maia and Srinivasan?"

"In . . . the . . . house . . . Gone?"

"Yes," Vijay whispered.

"He will . . . have . . . killed . . . Sumant before . . . you can get . . . back. Save my . . . daughter . . . Vijay. She is . . . all . . . that is . . . left . . ." And with one final gasping breath, Rajeev Subramanian died.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

  


It was shortly after 8:30 a.m. when Jonny slammed through the door into the office on the 27th floor of the Garrett J. Blackman Corporate Plaza. After one look at his face, several people who had been about to greet him, immediately looked the other way and became extremely busy. He went straight to his cubicle without saying a word to anyone. He flung his jacket into the guest chair sitting nearby and threw himself into his desk chair. The trip from the apartment to the office had only served to exacerbate his already flayed temper. The streets had been crowded when he exited the building and, short of throwing people to the ground, he had not been able to move quickly though the congestion. As a result, he'd just missed his train. While he waited, the fight with his father continued to replay itself over and over in his mind. And the more it repeated, the angrier he got.

His train finally arrived and it was already packed. Normally, crowds didn't bother him, but today, he felt like he was suffocating. There were no seats, so he was forced to stand and cling to one of the steadying straps. During the 15-minute ride to his stop, he was stepped on, elbowed, jostled, and even smacked in the jaw once. By the time he finally got off, he felt like he wanted to dropkick the lot of them. He climbed to street level only to discover that overnight, a road crew had begun tearing up a section of the street to fix a leaking water main. The noise of the jackhammers was incredible and the decibel levels beat into his already throbbing head until he thought it was going to explode. He'd given up any thought of getting a cup of coffee and made a beeline straight for the office. When he arrived, he discovered that he didn't have his company I.D. on him . . . he must have left it either on the dresser or clipped to the shirt he'd been wearing the night before . . . which meant he had to go through another 15 minutes of bureaucracy to get a temporary one issued.

Now, he was finally at work . . . with so much to do he didn't even know where to begin . . . and his head was throbbing so badly he couldn't even think. He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands, praying that the pounding ache would subside.

"Hey, man, you look like shit."

Jonny jumped violently, causing the ache in his head to intensify sharply. He glared at Blake sullenly and demanded, "What do _you_ want?"

Blake leaned one shoulder against the outside wall and surveyed him critically. "Well, it started as a friendly trip in to say good morning. From there, it progressed to serious concern about the state you're in. And finally it ended up as hurt feelings that you didn't call me to go along with you when you decided to go out and tie one on last night. I'm always up for a good drunk fest."

"I didn't go out and get drunk last night . . . as you damned well know. I was here until almost 3:00 in the morning trying to get that stupid presentation put together."

"Well, what then? Jess shut you out of the bedroom for coming home so late?"

"No!" he snarled. "Would you just go away and leave me alone? I have a pile of stuff to do today and if I don't get started, it's not going to get done. And I'd really like to get to go home _sometime_ before I have to give that damned presentation tomorrow."

Blake straightened abruptly. "Wait a minute. What presentation? At staff meeting this morning, Stan told us that something had come up and that the internet presentation was going to have to be postponed. Isn't that the one you've been working on so hard?"

"Postponed? What do you mean, postponed?" Jonny demanded. "No one said anything to me about it being put off."

Blake shrugged. "I can't help that. All I can tell you is what Stan said at staff meeting this morning . . ."

"Don't keep reminding me about the damned staff meeting! I slept through the stupid thing. God knows what I'm going to tell Stan! Why the hell Jess didn't get me up when she left this morning . . ."

"What are you doing here?" Stan Knight demanded, appearing at the entrance to Jonny's cubicle suddenly. "I told Jessica you were supposed to be allowed to sleep in this morning."

"What?!" Jonny stared at his boss, stunned. He scrubbed at his face desperately, trying to make his brain work. "You told Jess to . . . when did you talk to her?"

"This morning. I'd heard through the grapevine that you'd been spending 18 to 20 hours a day in this place again, so when Garrett let me know that he'd decided to postpone your presentation, I talked to Jess and told her to let you sleep. I figured there was no way we'd see you until sometime after lunch. This has got to stop, Jon. You don't have to work this hard." Stan stepped forward and caught Jonny's chin, tilting his head back and staring into his eyes sharply. "Are you all right? You look like shit."

Jonny pulled away and rubbed his eyes again. "Everyone agrees on that point, at any rate. Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Short on sleep, no breakfast, and a headache fit to split my skull, but other than that, I'm just dandy." He levered himself to his feet again. "I'm gonna go down to the cafeteria and see if I can get a very large cup of the stuff they claim is coffee and something to eat. Once I do that, I should start coming back to life again."

Stan didn't say anything, but his expression was clearly worried. Finally, Jonny gave him a half-hearted smile. "No, really. I mean it. This is not a big deal." He sighed at the skeptical look. "Look, I know I haven't gotten much sleep recently, but that's not the problem this morning." He hesitated briefly and then shrugged. Lowering his voice, he said, "While I was getting ready to come into work, the phone rang and it was my Dad. We got into the worst fight I think we've ever had. I was furious when I left home . . . " He snorted slightly. "I'm not sure I'm a whole lot less angry now . . . but that doesn't have anything to do with work. Jess probably left me a note and I just didn't see it." His eyes glazed slightly as he stared blankly at the cubicle wall, trying to picture the bedroom as he'd last seen it. "Yeah," he said slowly, "I think she did. There was something lying on her pillow. I just didn't notice it at the time."

Stan looked resigned. "All right. Go down and get something to eat. And on your way back up, check in at the nurse's office on the 5th floor and get something for that headache. I'll let you stay, but you are to leave by 2:00 and you're off tomorrow and the weekend. Garrett's had a change of heart. We've been working to set up that team to start looking for the causes of the file corruptions we've been suffering, and it's the team's unanimous decision that they want you heading it up. So we're rearranging your workload and next week, you begin working on that project. We've put the internet demo on hold for now. I want you rested when you come in on Monday. Clear?"

Jonny nodded wearily. "Got it."

"Now go get some breakfast."

Jonny followed the two of them out of his cubicle and, on his way to the door, stopped briefly to say something to Lin-Su. While he was talking with her, Garrett Blackman came in the door briskly. Spotting Stan heading back for his office, he called, "Stan, has Jon come in yet?"

Jonny stuck his head out of Lin-Su's cubicle and said, "Right here."

"You have vis . . . "

_**"Geezus!"**_ Jonny exclaimed, looking past Garrett Blackman. Garrett stepped back just as the glass door burst open and Hadji came striding through it. If Jonny looked bad, Hadji looked worse. His clothes were filthy, his hands and knuckles were cut and scraped, and there was a huge bruise developing across his left cheekbone. Behind him was Kefira. He clung to her hand fiercely as she stumbled after him. She looked even worse than both young men combined. She, too, was filthy and blood streaked her clothing. There was a long, shallow cut along the back of one arm that appeared to have been hastily doctored, she was limping slightly, and she had a huge bruise on the left side of her face. In addition, there was a makeshift bandage on the right side of her head that ran from her cheekbone up into her hairline. The skin around the bandage was blackened and looked raw. Jonny had been in enough firefights in his short life to recognize powder burns when he saw them. He met them in the middle of the room, putting out his hands to steady his brother. "What the hell happened?"

"We have a problem," Hadji said grimly. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Jonny looked around, suddenly aware of the crowd of staring people. Garrett Blackman caught his eye and gesture toward the conference room. With its glass front wall, it might be a fishbowl, but at least it was enclosed and had a door. "Come on," he said economically, and without wasted effort, he reached down, picked Kefira up, and carried her toward the room.

As the door closed behind them, Garrett turned to Stan Knight and said quietly, "Stan, call down to the nurse's office and tell her that I want her up here on the double. Then get your people back to work. Those three don't need an audience. I'm going to . . ."

At that instant, the door burst open again and Jessie Bannon came striding in. She looked extremely upset. "Stan! Is Jon here? I looked for him at home, but he wasn't there."

"In there," Garrett said and Stan stepped aside so she could see to the other end of the room. 

Jessie's face turned white, then just as quickly flushed an angry red. "That goddamned bastard," she snarled and pushed past everyone to join the others in the conference room.

Garrett's eyes flashed around the room again, taking in Jon's avidly staring co-workers, and made a quick decision. Stan was just hanging up the phone in his office when Garrett strode in.

"Nurse is on her way up," he said.

"I'm going to get those four of out there. When she arrives, send her straight up to the penthouse. Also, call Barry Solomon. Tell him that I need him over here pronto and that he should bring his medical bag. And for the love of God, keep this quiet! I don't know what's going on, but I don't think it's good."

"That girl needs a hospital."

Garrett looked troubled as he stuck his head out of the door and gazed down at the four young people, all of whom appeared to be arguing violently. "I have the feeling that if they could have taken her to a hospital, she would have been there a long time ago."

"But why couldn't they . . ." He trailed off, as he came to stand beside Garrett and stare at the four in the conference room again. "A gun shot wound," he said softly. "It would get reported to the authorities."

"If they were jumped and someone is looking to finish the job, you can bet that they're going to be keeping an eye and ear out for reported shootings or treatment of gunshot wounds. Get Barry Solomon. He owes me more than a few favors. I'm just about to collect on one of them." Garrett walked quickly toward the conference room, sending a sharp look at the remaining people still lingering in the open center of the room. "Get back to work," he snapped. He went up and knocked sharply, then opened the door. They looked up at him with shuttered expressions. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you all out of here. Jonny, you lead the way. We'll use the penthouse elevator. I'm taking you upstairs." Seeing their looks of reluctance, Garrett stepped in and closed the door. "The nurse should be here any minute, and there's a doctor already on the way. You don't want either one of them examining you in front of all of Jon's co-workers. Upstairs, you'll have more privacy."

"No arguments, Hadji," Jonny agreed immediately. Rising, he went to Kefira. "Come on, your ride is here."

"I can walk," she protested weakly.

Jonny grinned at her, trying to appear lighthearted. "Yeah, but why should you?"

"I can take her," Hadji protested.

"You can barely stay on your feet," was Jonny immediate response. He picked her up without any apparent effort and said, "Let's go."

Garrett Blackman opened the door, and the four young people preceded him out. As they passed Jonny's cubicle, Blake stuck his head out and called softly, "Anything you need, bro', just say the word." Jonny flashed him a quick look and a nod, and then they were gone.

As Blake turned back to head for his own desk, Lin-Su and Ted appeared at his elbow.

"Nothing interesting about his life, huh," Lin-Su said sourly. "If that's 'nothing interesting', I'd hate to see his definition of lively!" 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
The five of them exited the penthouse elevator into an office of spectacular proportions. It was shaped something like a football that had the pointed ends flattened. The elevator opened in the center of one of the long walls and the room extended approximately 15 feet in either direction from that point. The walls were made of highly polished slate gray granite slabs that were mounted in a carefully interlocking pattern. At carefully spaced intervals, alcoves about four feet high by three feet wide by about three feet deep were set into the walls. Each alcove held a piece of sculpture. The floor was granite also, but rather than being dark gray, this was of a pale, silvery gray shade. The spark of crystal came from its depths. Across from them, the city spread out in a breathtaking view all the way out to Boston Harbor. The entire arc of the far wall was made of glass and the panorama made the room seem even larger than it actually was. There was a large, modern desk in golden oak tones on one end of the room, and a huge conference table with chairs on the other. Three multi-faceted chandeliers hung evenly spaced across the ceiling, and careful inspection showed Jonny that recessed track lighting along the ceiling probably allowed for islands of light over both the desk and the conference table at night. 

"This way," Garrett said, and led the way past the conference table to a door at the far end of the room. This opened into what were obviously Blackman's personal living quarters. They had only the quickest impression of large, leather furniture, glass and chrome tables, and more artwork before they moved into a large bedroom. A king-sized bed was the centerpiece of the room, and it was there that he gestured for Jonny to put Kefira. Jonny laid her down carefully, stepped back, and was immediately replaced by Hadji. The other three moved back into the living room, giving the young couple some privacy as they waited for the nurse to arrive.

"Mr. Blackman, I . . ." Jonny began, but Garrett cut him off with a shake of his head.

"I'm asking for no explanations, Jon. I know they wouldn't have come here looking for you if it weren't important. Right now, our first priority is to get Ms. Subramanian some medical attention. I'm going back out to the office to wait for the nurse. I'll be back as soon as she arrives." 

Jessie waited until he was gone, before turning Jonny and demanding, "What happened?"

Jonny shook his head. "I don't know. Hadji hadn't had the chance to tell me before you got here, and then Mr. Blackman interrupted, so I still don't know what's going on."

"Well, I can tell you _one_ thing that is," she said grimly, and handed him a folded up newspaper. When he opened it, a picture of Hadji in full royal regalia jumped out at him. He scanned the story quickly.

**_Last Sultan of India Slated to Wed_**

The Royal Palace in Bangalore City announced today the official engagement of His Royal Excellency Hadji Singh, Sultan of Bangalore, to Kefira Subramanian, the second daughter of mining magnate Rajeev Subramanian of Panjal Province, Bangalore. The Royal Regent Neela Singh, mother of the Sultan, announced that a firm date for the wedding has not been set, however, tentative plans are for the function to occur around the first of the year.

The Sultan is currently attending Columbia University in the United States, and plans to continue his education following the wedding. Ms. Subramanian was unavailable for comment as she is being kept sequestered until after the wedding, following the ancient tradition for the future wife of the Sultan in Bangalore.

Government officials in Bangalore, India, and other surrounding countries expressed delight about the Sultan's choice, stating that the marriage was sure to assist in stabilizing this volatile area and once again establishing the clear line of succession within the Sultancy.

In recent months, world leaders have expressed growing concern regarding the continuing unrest in the country. Set amid the political turmoil of northeastern India, for many years Bangalore was an island of peace amidst other warring factions. However, a political coup fifteen years ago by Deepak Singh, younger brother of then Sultan Haresh Singh, caused the borders to be closed. Following ten years of isolation, the return of the rightful Sultan, Hadji Singh, only son of Haresh, marked an end to the isolationist policies of the country.

This event marks the first royal wedding this country has seen in 32 years, and is expected to be a lavish affair.

"Oh boy," Jonny said. "Hadji is gonna be seriously pissed about this. If he wasn't getting along with Neela before . . ."

"You can say that again!"

"Here we go," Garrett Blackman said, coming back into the room. A middle-aged woman with brown hair and eyes and a warm smile trailed after him.

Jonny smiled at her. "Hi, Nancy."

"Jon. Where are my patients?"

"This way, Nancy," Garrett replied, and led her on through the living room and back into the bedroom. Jonny and Jessie didn't follow, choosing to stay out from under foot. Both knew that Hadji would join them once he was certain that Kefira was being properly cared for.

"What are you doing here, anyway, Jonny?" Jessie demanded. "You're supposed to be at home asleep."

"Yeah, so I've been told." He told her about waking up abruptly and not finding her note. "You did leave one, didn't you? On the pillow? I just didn't see it before I left."

"How could you miss it?" she demanded. "It was lying there right by your head!"

"Well, I wasn't exactly with it this morning when I woke up. And then there was the phone call from Dad . . ."

"Dr. Quest called?" Jessie said, surprised. "This morning?"

"Yeah. Said he'd called yesterday and left a message but no one called him back. Do you remember a message on the machine when you got home last night? I don't, but then I didn't check, either."

"To be honest, neither did I. I didn't get in until after midnight and I was beat, so I just went straight to bed. What did he want?"

"What does he _always_ want?" Jonny asked rhetorically, but Jessie could see the anger flare in his eyes again.

She looked at him thoughtfully for a minute and then said softly, "Was it bad?"

Jonny sank slowly down onto a nearby chair and rested his head in his hands. "Yeah, it was. Worse than it's ever been before. I'll tell you, Jess, I just don't know any more . . . "

Jessie came over and stroked his hair gently, but before she could say anything, they heard a voice call from the direction of the office. She hesitated, glancing from the bedroom door to Jonny and then back again, before shrugging her shoulders and walking swiftly across the room to the office door. There she met a tall, rangy man in his late 40's carrying a medical bag. He stopped in surprise when he saw her.

"Hello. I'm looking for Garrett Blackman. He called me . . ."

"He's in there," Jessie replied and gestured toward the bedroom door.

"Thank you," the man responded briskly and then left her to join the others in the bedroom.

A few minutes later, Hadji appeared. He looked disgruntled, however, a substantially cleaner face and bandages on both hands testified to the fact that he'd at least been looked at by medical personnel.

"They will not allow me to stay. They say that I am in the way."

Jessie grabbed him by the arm, led him over to the sofa, and forced him to sit down. "Leave them alone," she directed him firmly, settling beside him. "She's better off if you just let them do their jobs."

"Absolutely," Jonny agreed, sitting down on the coffee table facing his brother. "Now, tell us what's going on."

Hadji was silent for a long time, staring sightlessly down at his hands. "They tried to take her from me," he said finally.

"Who did?" Jonny prompted him gently, but Jessie didn't miss his instinctive flinch at that comment.

"I do not know who they were," Hadji replied, shaking his head. Weariness seemed to be settling over him like a blanket and he sagged perceptibly. "They claimed they were sent by my mother, but I cannot believe that. Mother and I may disagree at times, but I cannot believe that she would resort to violence to get Kefira back into the country."

"Since when has she been asking that she return?" Jessie asked. "I thought you had settled that issue, and she'd agreed to let it go until after she finished school."

Hadji's tone was bitter as he replied, "That was before Mr. Birla began working on her."

"Birla?" Jonny questioned, exchanging a knowing look with Jessie. "As in the head of your Advisory Council?"

"Yes. Mother says that he has been encouraging her to get Kefira to return to the country. But to resort to kidnapping?"

"I think you need to go back and start at the beginning," Jonny directed him. ". . . or, more precisely, go back and start at this past weekend, because I think that's where this started. What was it that happened that you simply wouldn't tell us about?"

Slowly, Hadji began telling them about the fight with his mother over the weekend. He stumbled over Neela's comments about Jessie, but she just waved them aside.

"Different cultures, different mores," she replied. "Furthermore, I gave up worrying about what others thought about our living arrangements a long time ago." Jonny didn't look quite so forgiving, but he kept his mouth shut.

From there he told them about Ambassador Tilak turning up at his apartment and then of his phone call to his mother. "I did believe that she finally understood and that she would not try to interfere in this any longer," he said in bewilderment. "I simply do not understand this."

Reluctantly, Jonny held out the newspaper to him. "I guess you better know about this, too."

They watched as Hadji read through the story, then went back and read through it again. Suddenly, in a low, flat, uninflected tone, he began to swear. He systematically went through every single cussword he knew . . . in every single language that he knew, finally ending in English with a heartfelt, "Son of a _bitch!_" as he flung the newspaper across the room. "She swore she would not do this! She said that she understood how dangerous it was for Kefira to be exposed to the politics of Bangalore in this way. _Why_ would she do this? _**WHY???**_"

"Maybe Birla got to her again . . . convinced her to do it," Jonny ventured.

"Or maybe it was done as another goad," Jessie suggested. "Another way of trying to get you to go back."

"Well, if that was the goal, they have accomplished it," Hadji said bitterly. "I no longer have a choice. Now I must return."

"You can't!" Jessie exclaimed. "If this really is a ploy to draw you back to where your enemies can get to you, you'd be walking right into their hands."

"You do not understand, Jessie. I no longer have any free will in this decision. I must return to Bangalore and I must stand up in front of my people and openly renounce Kefira as my future wife. If I do not do so, she will be exposed as being out of the country rather than being sequestered as she is supposed to be. That will be considered tantamount to adultery and she will be condemned to death. If she remains out of the country where they cannot get to her, then the lives of her family are forfeit in her place. My only choice is to go home and declare that the announcement was premature, that a marriage contract had never been made, and that I have no intention of marrying her. Since there was no contract, neither she nor her family is in default."

"And you are forced into walking away from the only woman you've ever loved," Jessie said softly.

"I have no choice." He sat with his head in his hands and said nothing else. Jonny and Jessie looked at him for a long moment. Jonny rose and gestured to Jessie, pointing toward the office. She followed him silently, leaving Hadji sitting on the sofa in dejection.

"He can't go back there alone," Jonny said, when Jessie had closed the door behind them. He walked over and stared out the window. "If he goes without someone to help him, he won't get out alive."

"I know," Jessie agreed. "We have to go with him."

Jonny turned and looked at her. They stood together in the morning sunshine that streamed in through the windows. It turned her hair to flame and her eyes to deep green fire. His heart contracted painfully. For him to go with his brother was one thing, but to put her at risk, too . . .

"Jess . . ."

"Don't say it," she warned him. "I don't want you going in there, either, but if you have to, then I'm not going to be left behind!"

He sighed softly. "I wish you weren't so stubborn," he said.

"I could say the same about you," she replied. Then she reached up and caressed the side of his face gently. "You look so tired," she said remorsefully.

"No, my co-workers assure me that I look like shit," he said with a wry shadow of his old, familiar smile. Turning his head, he kissed the palm of her hand.

She caught his head and drew it down so she could kiss him. Finally, their lips parted and she said regretfully, "Well, let's go find out what really happened so we know what we're up against."

Returning to the living room, they found it empty. Continuing on through the room, they found everyone in the bedroom. Hadji was sitting on the bed next to Kefira, while Garrett Blackman stood on the other side of the room with the two medical personnel. Hadji and Kefira were not talking, but he clung to her hand tightly. There was a fresh bandage on the right side of her head near her hairline, and her face had been cleaned and the powder burn looked substantially better. An ice pack had also been produced and Hadji held it against her bruised cheek gently.

With a quick glance at the couple on the bed, Jonny and Jessie moved to join Garrett Blackman. As they came up, they heard Jonny's boss say, "No, Barry, I just want you to keep quiet about it."

"Damn it, Garrett, that's a bullet wound. You know that I'm legally required to report it."

"I know what you're legally required to do. I'm _asking_ you, as a friend, not to do it. The only ones who know about it are those in this room. Nancy will keep her mouth shut, and I promise you that these four won't utter a word about it."

Solomon eyed Jonny thoughtfully. "Was this a political move against him?" he asked finally. Blackman stirred involuntarily. At the narrowing of Jonny's eyes, he added hastily, "I saw the story in the newspaper this morning . . . recognized him by the picture."

Jonny sighed and finally nodded. "Yes, as close as he can tell, it was. Please, Doctor," he said quietly. "These are desperate men and now that they've made an open move against him, they don't dare quit. If you report this, you put both of their lives at risk. "

The doctor sighed. "All right. But don't make me regret this decision." Turning to Garrett, he said, "If you don't need me any longer, I'm going to head back to the office. Call me again if you have any more trouble."

Jessie reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "She'll be okay?"

Dr. Solomon smiled and patted her hand. "Yes, she'll be fine. I'd say she was a very lucky young lady."

Garrett glanced at the two young people and then said quickly, "Come on, Barry, I'll take you down." He turned the man toward the door and continued, "I think you can go back to work, too, Nancy. Jon knows how to reach you if he needs your services." He looked at Jonny and Jessie again. "Make yourself at home, guys. I'll be back in a while."

The two of them remained standing where they were until they heard the living room door close. Jonny crossed and checked to be certain they were alone, and then the two of them moved to the bed.

"How are you doing?" Jess asked, sitting down on the opposite side from Hadji.

"Better," Kefira replied with a weak smile. "My head hurts less than it did before." Hadji reached out and brushed her hair away from her forehead. He massaged her temple gently and brushed his thumb over her eyelids as they drifted shut. The gesture was so loving that it caused both Jonny and Jessie to catch their breath. Jessie's eyes locked with Jonny's and she could almost read his mind as she saw the bleakness reflected there.

"Okay, I don't mean to be pushy," Jonny said briskly, "but I get the impression that we've got very little time. So let's have it . . . what happened?"

Hadji sighed, but it was Kefira who replied. "We were attacked outside of my apartment building."

"Do you know why?"

"The man said the Regent had sent him to take me back home. I just do not understand it. If the Lady Neela wanted me back in Bangalore so badly, why did she not just ask me? I would have gone if it was so important . . ."

As one, Jessie and Jonny turned to stare at Hadji. Kefira looked from them to Hadji and back. When she spoke again, her voice had a dangerous edge to it. "What has happened that you have not told me about, Hadji?"

The young man shook his head. This caused Kefira to yank her hand away and struggle to sit up. When he reached out to try to make her lie down again, she slapped his hands away and scooted across the bed out of his reach.

_"No!"_ she snapped. "What is it that you are not telling me?"

"It does not matter," he replied in a low voice. "Things have changed." He looked at her with a gaze that seemed both alive with pain and yet dead at the same time. "_Everything_ has changed. You cannot go home, Kefira. If you do, they will kill you. And you cannot be my wife, either. No matter what we have said or done . . ." They all saw him shudder. "I must go back . . . renounce you . . . "

_**"NO!!!"**_ Anguish saturated that denial. "I do not care about this, Hadji. It does not matter. I said I would stand with you, and I will . . ."

"It is no longer just us," he said harshly. "It has all become political now and we are both pawns . . ."

"They announced your engagement," Jessie told her regretfully. That statement struck Kefira dumb.

"If I refuse to go back, your family will pay the price," Hadji said heavily. "I can not permit that. At least, if I renounce you as my wife, your family will be safe and you still have the chance to complete your education and return . . ."

"Hold on!" Jonny said sharply. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Hadji, you've always told me that I should never make decisions until I've got all of the facts. Well, there's a lot of missing facts here, so let's start there. You still haven't told us what happened. Go back and start with this weekend again, since it's obvious that Kefira doesn't know about that." When Hadji started to protest, Jonny shook his head and continued, "No! No more trying to protect anyone, particularly Kefira. If we're going to get you out of this, we're going to need all of us. So tell her or we will."

Giving in, Hadji started over and detailed everything that had happened. He concluded with, "I realized what she planned just an instant too late to stop her. When the gun went off, and I saw her fall, I was certain she was dead."

The tone of his voice caused Kefira to scoot back across the bed and put her arms around him. "I could not let them take me," she told him. "I refuse to be a weapon to be used against you. Better dead than that."

He clutched her fiercely and buried his face in her neck. _"No!"_ he responded in a muffled tone. She rubbed her chin against the top of his head and held him tightly, making soft, comforting sounds.

After a minute, Jonny cleared his throat awkwardly and asked, "Forgive me if I sound ungrateful, but how is it you _aren't_ dead?"

She sighed. "I am very quick. When he pulled me to my feet, he had moved the gun a short distance away. I dropped my head to one side an instant before I attacked him, and dropped immediately. His instinctive movement jerked the gun up slightly and so the bullet only grazed me along the hairline. It stunned me, but that was all."

"Did you kill him?" Jonny asked his brother matter-of-factly.

Hadji's eyes met Jonny's across the top of Kefira's head. "I do not know," he replied in a low voice. "He was unconscious by the time I realized she was still alive. I abandoned him where he lay to go to her, and once I knew she could move safely, we ran."

"Initially, we thought we would return to Hadji's apartment," Kefira said, taking up the narrative again," but when we got there, we discovered another group of men waiting for us. There was simply no way to get in without being seen."

"We could not keep running," Hadji continued. "Kefira needed medical attention badly, but we also knew that we couldn't go to a hospital. There would be too many questions we couldn't afford to answer. So we headed back toward campus. We found a quiet place for Kefira to wait . . ."

Kefira grinned suddenly, a spark of her old spirit surfacing again. "I hid in the shrubbery nearby."

". . . while I went into a convenience store and bought first aid supplies. I did the best that I could and then we decided to come here to you."

Kefira shot him a veiled look, while Jessie frowned, "I don't . . .

Hastily, Hadji cut her off. Turning to his brother, he said, "I must ask a favor of you, Jonny. It is extremely important. I must return to Bangalore as quickly as possible. There is still a chance that I can avert the worst of the repercussions. But Kefira is still at great risk. I need your promise that you will protect her while I am gone."

_**"NO!!!"**_ The response was resounding and came from all three of them at the same instant.

"You cannot go back there," Kefira cried. "It is what they want you to do!"

"I have no choice," he repeated patiently. "If I do not go, your family's lives are forfeit. And from what your father tells me, I have more support from the people of Bangalore than Arun Birla realizes. I can do this . . ."

"Not alone, you can't," Jonny replied grimly.

"Absolutely not," Jessie agreed. "Jonny and I are both going with you."

"That leaves no one to care for Kefira," Hadji said, his temper flaring. "I cannot leave her here alone. If those men find her again . . ."

"I am not staying here!" Kefira exclaimed hotly. "If you return, then I go with you, also!"

"No!" Hadji snapped forcefully. "You cannot return without being put at great risk, and I cannot allow that. Jonny and Jessie can ensure that no one can reach you."

"I told you," Jonny replied flatly. 'You aren't going in alone. We'll send Kefira to Maine. She'll be safe enough at the Compound."

But Hadji shook his head. "No, we do not dare do that. Father pays too much attention to the situation in Bangalore these days. If we send Kefira there, he will know there is a problem. With his questionable health, I do not believe it is wise to add the stress of realizing that I am physically in the middle of it."

"Well, that leaves only one thing left to do," Jonny said. He turned and looked at Jessie levelly.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "You're not leaving me here."

"It's our only choice. You and Kefira have to stay here while Hadji and I go in and see if we can clear this up."

"It's women and children to the lifeboats again," Jessie retorted angrily.

"No, it's not," Jonny insisted. "I wouldn't argue with you if Kefira was 100%. But she's been hurt and needs time to recover. And Hadji's right . . . with Dad's health being if-y, we can't dump this on him. Hadji's _my_ brother, and I'm _**not**_ going to stay here and let him go in there alone. That only leaves you. You _have_ to stay here and make sure she's safe. If we leave for Bangalore only to have them take her and use her as leverage while we're over there, we're screwed."

She still looked angry, but she could also see the logic of what Jonny was saying. "All right," she said reluctantly, "I'll stay. But I don't like it."

"Do not do this, Hadji," Kefira said intensely. "We will warn my father. He can take my family and get them to safety until this can be resolved."

Hadji brushed her hair away from her forehead again. "You know that will not work, my love. You know our traditions even better than I do."

He could see her eyes fill with tears of frustration. Finally, she looked him squarely in the eyes and asked, "Do you love me?"

"You know that I do," he replied

"I am your wife," she said intensely. "You pledged it."

"That was before all of this. Would you condemn your family?"

For an instant, her eyes fell, but when they rose to his again, they were determined. "You said that I know our traditions even better than you do."

"Yes."

"And you still insist that we follow tradition in this matter."

"Yes."

"Then the choice has been made. A wife follows her husband, not her family. We do what we can, but . . ."

"Kefira . . ."

"You **married** me. I will not allow you to deny it or pretend it never happened!"

"He _**WHAT?**_" Jonny gasped, suddenly realizing that Kefira wasn't talking metaphorically. Jessie just stared at the two of them, open-mouthed.

"It has not been consummated. It can be dissolved . . ."

"Then we will consummate it right now," she said fiercely.

_**"Wait just one minute!"**_ Jonny said loudly. "What are the two of you talking about?"

"Where did you go last night?" Jessie demanded, grasping Kefira's arm. She looked from one to the other. "It doesn't take all night to get from New York to Boston. You said the attack occurred about 8:30 last night. You didn't get here until after 8:00 this morning. What did you do in the meantime?"

Kefira looked at Jessie seriously. "We went to a judge that Hadji knew in New York City and were married."

"How?" Jonny demanded. "What about the blood tests and waiting period?"

"They have no required physicals or blood tests in New York, and the waiting period can be waived," she replied.

Jonny grabbed Hadji by the shoulder and jerked him around to face him. "Why?" he questioned, staring at his brother with a hurt expression. "You had to know that I would want to be there . . ."

"I was trying to protect her," he explained desperately. "The men who attacked us said that the reason they were not trying for me was because whoever is behind them fears the political repercussions of trying to remove me from the United States by force. I may be the Sultan of Bangalore, but I am also a U.S. citizen with a very powerful father . . . a father who would cause a great deal of trouble if I simply disappeared from American soil."

"So you figured if you married Kefira, she becomes a U.S. citizen by default, affording her the same safeguard."

"Yes," Hadji acknowledged wearily. "We thought to keep the marriage quiet unless it became necessary to use the knowledge to protect her. But now . . ." 

Jonny looked up. Jessie and Kefira had slid to the far side of the bed and Kefira was speaking urgently to Jessie in a low, inaudible tone. Jessie nodded once and then looked up.

"Hadji, do the people in Bangalore know where we live?"

Hadji shook his head. "No, I do not believe so. I have taken great care never to mention it to anyone. It was one of the reasons that I felt relatively safe in bringing Kefira here."

"Then I think that we need to head back to our place. I'm the only one of us that's gotten any sleep to speak of in the last 24 hours. We can't make any kind of decisions until the three of you have gotten some rest." She consulted her watch quickly. "It's almost 9:30. That makes it about 8:00 p.m. in Bangalore. They'll be settling down for the night. Let's recoup and then think about this again."

Jonny shook himself. "Good idea. You guys wait here for a few minutes more, and let me go clear the decks with my boss. I'll be right back." Hadji nodded wearily. Jonny looked at him for a long moment and then thumped him on the shoulder gently. "Chin up, Hadj. We're not done yet. We'll figure something out."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

  


Barbara was just coming out of one of her office's exam rooms, when Nicki stuck her head around the corner and called to her.

"Dr. Mason, it's Race Bannon on line two. He sounds pretty harassed."

"Okay, I'll take it in my office." Sitting down in her desk chair, she picked up the phone and said cheerfully, "Good morning, Race!"

"Is it?" he replied sourly. "You certainly couldn't prove it by me!"

"Oh, dear. What's up?"

"Things have just hit the fan and I'm not sure what do to."

"So tell me about it."

"Well, to start off with, Benton and Jonny got into it again this morning. This one's got me seriously worried because Benton simply refuses to talk about it. He's clammed up again. But I'll tell you this much . . . he's furious . . . angrier than I think I've ever seen him."

"Angry at what? Can you tell?"

"Oh yeah, I can tell. Without a doubt, he's pissed off at Jonny."

Barbara sighed. "And you have no idea at all what happened?"

"No. I do know that Benton had tried to reach Jonny several times yesterday with no success, and that he'd left a couple of messages, but no one ever called him back. So, he was agitated about that to start with. Then, early this morning . . . like 7:15 or 7:30 . . . he tried again. He'd been in the study with the door closed, but I could still hear him yelling. When he came out, he was absolutely furious . . . flushed and swearing. He went straight out to the lab and he hasn't been back to the house since."

"Did you ask him about it when he came out of the study?"

"Yes." There was a brief pause and then Race sighed. "He said . . . and I quote . . . 'Well then, let him starve . . . see if I care!' And he stomped out of the house."

"Oh, hell," Barbara said with feeling. "I really thought we'd gotten past this stage."

"So did I."

"You have no idea what he was wanting to talk to Jonny about that was so urgent? No hint at all?"

"No. But I do get the impression that whatever it was, he's been thinking about it for a while. Something he's been excited about, but that's all I know."

"What about Jonny? Did you try to reach him?"

"Yes, but I got no answer at the apartment."

"What about at work?"

There was a brief, painful pause before Race replied, "I don't have a way to reach him there. He still won't tell us where he works. The only one who knows is Hadji. We could probably find out, but we've been afraid to do that for fear of shattering the small amount of trust that we've managed to rebuild over the last several months. We keep hoping that he'll tell us himself."

Barbara nodded, as if he could see her. "You're right. You don't dare do that."

Again, there was that brief, pained silence. Then Race said, "You know, don't you . . . where he works. He's told _you_."

"Yes."

"I thought so." The hurt in his voice was palpable, and Barbara felt incredibly sorry for Race Bannon. Of all the people who had suffered over the estrangement between Jonny and Benton Quest, Barbara really believed that Race was the one who suffered the most unfairly. Blamed by association rather than by action, Race had been closed out of Jonny and Jessie's lives. Both young people were pleasant to him, but neither could bring themselves to trust him. Race never complained and he didn't seem to blame anyone, either . . . at least not that Barbara heard . . . but every so often the pain came through so clearly she could almost feel it herself.

"I'm so sorry, Race."

"Not your fault. And as my mother always used to say, 'This too shall pass.' So what do I do?"

"Let it ride for the moment. Both of them need to calm down a little, and I'm up to my ears right now. I'll come out either over lunch or this evening after I finish up, and see if I can talk to Benton . . . at least find out what's going on. Then I'll try Jonny and get his side of the fight and we'll see what happens. I was planning on coming out tonight anyway to take a look at Estella."

"And that's the next thing . . ."

"Estella, too?"

"I told you it hasn't been a good morning," Race said grimly. "She fell a little while ago."

"How badly?" Barbara demanded, sitting forward with immediate concern.

"Well, it could have been a lot worse. I've taken your advice and moved her upstairs. That has seemed to help in terms of her restlessness. I've also rigged a workstation around the bed up there so she can work at a computer terminal and still stay lying in bed . . ."

"That ought to be interesting," Barbara commented with a hint of amusement.

"It's novel, if nothing else. She's been pretty good about staying in bed . . . and truthfully, I'd begun to be suspicious. Stel's still a lousy patient and she's been too passive recently."

"And you're starting to wonder why."

"I've started wondering what she isn't telling me," Race corrected her. "She knows that if she gets much worse, you're going to start talking hospitalization. I guess I'm worried that she's not telling us about things that are happening to her because she can't face that thought. And I'm afraid her fear was reinforced this morning. Apparently, she decided that she wanted something downstairs. I guess she'd called for me, but I wasn't in the house. IRIS warned me, but before I could shake loose and get in to her, she'd grown impatient. She got up and tried to go downstairs alone. I'm not entirely sure what happened . . . whether she got dizzy and fell and passed out when she hit, or if she lost consciousness for some reason and then fell . . . but the end result was the same. I found her lying unconscious on the floor in the hallway at the head of the main staircase. If she'd gotten so much as one step further before she passed out, she would have gone headlong down the stairs."

"How long ago did this happen?"

"I found her maybe ten minutes ago."

"And where is she now."

"Back in bed. I made sure she hadn't broken anything when she fell and I stayed there for a few minutes with a hand on her stomach making sure there was no signs of contractions, and then I picked her up and carried her back into the bedroom."

"Is she conscious?"

"Yeah, she was starting to stir when I picked her up to carry her back to the bedroom again."

"Let me talk to her."

"Okay, hang on. I'm in Benton's room. I've got to go back down the hall."

The line hummed emptily at her as Race put the call on hold. _That entire family is so damned stubborn,_ Barbara thought in disgust. _From Benton and his son, all the way down through those people who have been blended in through time, loyalty, and marriage. They're all great at looking out for each other, but not one of them has a bit of sense when it comes to taking care of themselves!_

The phone clicked in her ear and Estella's voice said, "Barbara?"

"What in heaven's name happened, Estella?" Barbara demanded.

The other woman sighed. "I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "One minute I seemed to be fine and the next thing I remember is waking up on the floor with Race staring down at me with his 'spook in crisis' look." In the background, Barbara could hear Race mutter something unintelligible that sounded decidedly grumpy. "There is, too, such a look," Estella replied to him with a ghost of laughter in her voice. Then she continued, directing her comments to Barbara again. "I really don't know what happened."

"Think about it. Do you remember feeling dizzy at all? Do you have any memory of starting to fall before you passed out?"

"No, none at all. Honestly, Barbara, I was being very careful. I'd stayed next to the wall for support in case I did get dizzy, but I don't remember anything like that at all. And I have no memory of falling whatsoever."

Barbara frowned, worry gnawing at her. "No hedging this time, Estella. Have you been developing symptoms that you aren't telling me about? I need to know."

"No! I swear! I've felt more tired than normal in the last couple of days, but I've warned you about that. If anything, I feel a little better because the nausea hasn't been as bad."

Barbara sighed again. "All right. I do not want you out of bed the rest of today, you understand? I'll be out there this evening and we'll take a good long look at you to see if we can figure out what's going on. In the meantime, I'm going to send Kathy out to collect some samples again and we'll have the lab run them before I come out."

She could almost see the other woman grimace. "Oh good. More needles and peeing in a cup again."

"You were the one who wanted to be pregnant," Barbara pointed out, a smile warming her voice slightly.

"Yes, and don't think I haven't wished that we had considered adoption!"

That caused Barbara to laugh outright. At least the woman's sense of humor was still intact. "Well, it's too late now . . ."

"'We play the hand we're dealt.' I know, I know. Well, I guess we'll see you later this evening then. Tell Kathy she's welcome to come out anytime. IRIS will be expecting her. And it's not like I'm going anywhere."

"Good enough. I'll . . ."

"Oh, wait! Race wants to talk to you again. Hang on . . ."

Barbara could hear the phone being passed, and then Race was back. "Please don't tell me something else went wrong," she said plaintively as she heard him draw breath to speak.

"What did I say about it being a bad morning? I need your advice on something else."

_What now?_ Barbara thought resignedly. "Shoot."

Race was silent for a long moment and then he said heavily. "The fat's in the fire about Hadji, too."

Barbara felt herself go rigid. _Oh no, not Hadji. He can't take having his other son in trouble, too._ "What about him?"

"Do you have a copy of the morning paper?"

"Not right here. Why?"

"Get it," he commanded flatly.

Covering the mouthpiece of the phone, she raised her voice and called, "Kathy!" After a brief pause, the door opened and her nurse stuck her head in the door with a questioning look. "Get me today's Camden Herald."

"I wondered how long it was going to be before you asked to see that," she said cryptically, as she disappeared from the doorway. A moment later she reappeared and set the paper down in front of Barbara. It had been carefully folded to reveal the front-page story, and a photo of Hadji stared up at her from the newsprint. She snatched it up and read the brief story quickly.

"When did this happen?" Barbara demanded of Race. "I thought Hadji was adamant about not wanting his engagement announced until after they had finished school."

"He was," Race said, sounding grim once again. "I don't think Hadji had anything to do with this. Bennett warned us back in April that things were heating up in Bangalore. If I had to guess, I'd say this is a political move by the opposition. They're trying to put pressure on him."

"What does Hadji say about it?"

"I don't know!" Race said in frustration. "I can't reach him. He's not at his apartment in New York, nor is Kefira at hers, and he's not answering his cell phone. I've tried calling Jonny, too, but there's no answer there, either, and I can't even leave a message because the answering machine won't kick in."

"This doesn't sound good at all."

"No, it doesn't. My question is this. Do I tell Benton about this, or wait until we know something more? So far, I don't think he knows about it. I managed to snare the morning newspaper before he saw it. Both the phone and the fax machine began going nuts about an hour ago, but IRIS is fielding the calls and preventing the phone from ringing in the house or lab, and Mrs. Evans is pulling the faxes off before he has the chance to see them. But I'm just sure that Benton's e-mail account is probably getting just as many hits and I really don't want to tamper with that unless I absolutely have to. It's also made all the wire services and it's on the news."

"And you're sure he'll interpret this as bad news."

"No question. For one thing, Hadji never would have made a decision like this without telling Benton first. You know Hadji, Barbara. He's not a public person by nature. He would have come home with Kefira, told Benton, and then celebrated quietly with us. Furthermore, Benton keeps incredibly close tabs on the situation in Bangalore. He's been doing that ever since April when Bennett tried to question Hadji about the building situation there and Hadji lost his temper. I suspect Benton knows more about what's going on over there than any of the rest of us. No, he's going to know things are turning worse. He's also going to know that if Hadji has any hope of marrying Kefira at all, the two of them are going to have to return to Bangalore to deal with this situation."

Barbara was quiet for a long time. Finally, she said, "I think you have no choice but to tell him, Race. It will be bad enough telling him about it now, but it will be even worse if you try to hide it from him and he finds out on his own. That's what got he and Jonny in trouble back in March. It's going to put him under added stress, but we simply can't help that. Tell him face-to-face and watch him closely. Even if he seems to take it well enough, stay close and keep an eye on him. You've seen the way he looks when those spells hit him. Watch for the signs and call me if you see any evidence that he's going into one. I'll be out just as soon as I possibly can."

"Have you managed to reach that doctor you've been wanting to talk to? The one from England?"

"No, not yet," Barbara replied in frustration. "I did manage to get past the bimbo to someone who sounded reasonably intelligent, but he tells me that Dr. Burrows is traveling and they have no way of reaching him at the moment. Normally, he calls in every couple of days, but I just missed his last call. Because he's due back late tomorrow, they don't expect him to check in again before he arrives home, so I may not hear from him before Monday morning. I'm stuck. All I can do is wait for him to call me."

"Damn. If we just knew _what_ it is we're fighting . . ."

"Tell me about it! Look, I better go. I've got a waiting room full of patients, and the sooner I get started the sooner I'll be free and can get out to you. Keep a close watch on both of them and I'll be there as soon as I can."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

  


Jessie closed the door to the apartment, then turned and pointed at Jonny sternly.

"You. Bed. _NOW._"

"But . . ."

"No buts," she said, shoving him determinedly toward the bedroom. "We need clear heads and none of you are capable of that right now. By dinnertime everyone should be rested and we can tackle this intelligently. Now, _go!_"

As Jonny drifted off toward their bedroom, Jessie then turned to Hadji. "Knowing you the way I do, I doubt you'll be able to sleep decently until you've taken a shower. I'll give you 15 minutes and if you aren't out and in that bed," she pointed toward the guestroom, "I'll come in and drag you out and plant you there myself."

"But Kefira . . . "

"I'll take care of Kefira. You just go on."

A small smile flickered, and he said meekly, "Yes, mother."

_**"GO!"**_

Jessie returned to the living room, shaking her head. "I swear, there are times you'd think they were only five years old."

Kefira laughed. "They are extremely stubborn," she agreed.

"Okay, I did as you asked. I've gotten them back here and out of the way. Now, what is it?"

Kefira peered down the hall at the closed bathroom door and then drew Jessie toward the kitchen. "I need your advice."

"Okay, but make it quick," Jessie warned, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out two bottles of juice. She handed one of them to Kefira and then leaned against the refrigerator and gazed at her friend. "I promised Hadji I'd get you to bed, too, and I meant it."

Kefira nodded wearily as she crawled up onto one of the high barstools that sat on one side of the kitchen. "This will not take long," Kefira said. Looking Jessie straight in the eye, she said, "I need for you to tell me how I can get Hadji to make love to me."

Jessie gagged violently, spraying orange juice all over the floor. Coughing frantically to clear the juice out of her lungs, she finally wheezed, "You want me to tell you how to do _**what?**_"

"Get Hadji to make love to me," Kefira repeated seriously.

"How am _**I**_ supposed to know how to do that?" Jessie demanded.

"You had no trouble getting Jonny to make love to you, did you? Well, how did you do that? How did you make him _**want**_ to do that?"

Jessie looked at her helplessly. "Kefira, what's going on? And why are you asking _me_? Hadji and I have _never_ had that kind of relationship. You know that . . ."

"But there is no one else I can ask," Kefira exclaimed in frustration. She set the bottle of juice down on the bar and leaned forward intensely. "Jessie, I have never been good with boys. I never even dated before I began seeing Hadji, so I have no idea what to do. And now it is _vital_ that I get him to do this, or I will lose him!"

"Haven't the two of you talked about this?"

"Yes, and we both decided that we didn't want to do it until we were married. But that was before someone decided to announce that I am to be his wife. Jessie, he was not exaggerating about what is likely to happen now. And I **know** him. He is going to try to do what he thinks is best for me, regardless of what I want."

"God, I just_** hate it**_ when they do that!" Jessie exclaimed in disgust.

"He will not listen to me!" Kefira said, on the verge of tears. "I understand the risks, both to me and my family, and I do not care. I love him and I do not want to lose him. I will not! When he asked me to marry him last night after those men attacked us, I was not dazed or overwhelmed. I knew exactly what I was doing when I said yes. I will not allow him to back out of it now, simply because someone in Bangalore has decided to use me as leverage against him."

"Then just refuse to allow him to have the marriage annulled. You've both got to agree to it before it can be done, and if you refuse . . ."

"You do not understand!" she replied in agitation. "Yes, Bangalore will recognize the marriage as legal if he acknowledges it. They have no choice because he is still an American citizen. If the U.S. recognizes it as legal, then Bangalore must do so as well, although they could refuse to recognize any children we might produce as rightful heirs to the throne. But if he refuses to acknowledge it, then Bangalore _can_ and _**will**_ ignore it, no matter what I say. And if it is not consummated," she shook her head. "If they examine me and find that I am still a virgin . . . and I promise you that they will do so . . . they will accept his renunciation of me, and that will be the end. There will be no going back . . . ever. But if we consummate it, he will never turn away from me. He tells me he loves me and I believe him. Jessie, I do not want to lose him . . . I do not think I could bear it. So you must help me. Tell me what to do . . ."

The sound of the bathroom door opening down the hall caused Kefira to cut off what she was saying, and a moment later, Hadji appeared in the doorway. His hair was still wet and he had a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. He wore nothing else.

"You should be asleep," he told Kefira, in concern.

She slid off of the barstool and came to him quickly. Putting her arms around him, she laid her bruised cheek against his chest and clung to him tightly. He looked startled and a trifle embarrassed, but after a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his face against the top of her head. One hand drifted down her back in an unconsciously sensual caress, and Jessie saw goose bumps flicker over his bare skin as she responded, burrowing against his body more tightly and running her hands down his bare back. They stood locked together in that way until Kefira finally stirred and loosened her grip enough so she could lean back and look up at him. "You do not need to worry. I was simply waiting for you to finish in the shower so that I could get in. I will bathe and then go to bed."

"And I'll see that she gets there," Jessie said, straightening. "So you go on to bed now."

Hadji gestured toward the sofa. "I thought I would . . ."

"Absolutely not," Jessie replied firmly. "You are to go directly to the guest room. This is my home and I'll take care of sleeping arrangements. Now go on . . ." Kefira released him with a laugh as Jessie advanced on Hadji making shooing motions. Hadji backed away from her, clutching at the towel.

"I was hoping I could borrow a pair of pajamas from Jonny. We came without any kind of clothing . . ."

"Sorry. For one thing, Jonny's brawny enough through the hips that anything he might have would just fall off of you anyway. And if we're going to be brutally honest about it, neither one of us use such things any longer, and I'm not even sure where to find a pair. I suspect they're packed in a box in the storage room someplace. So you're just going to have to sleep in the outfit Mother Nature gave you. It won't be the first time. Now go _on!_ I swear, you're as bad as Jonny . . ."

"I'll just get my . . ."

"No, you won't," she replied, anticipating what he was going to say. "Everything you had on was filthy and right now it's all you've got. While you guys sleep, I'm going to do laundry. I also suspect I'm going to need to go shopping. Would you please go on to bed so Kefira can bathe and do the same?" Under her persistent badgering, Hadji retreated down the hall to the bedroom. Still standing in the kitchen, Kefira could hear Jessie lecturing him for a few minutes more, then she heard the door close and a moment later, she reappeared.

"I swear to God," she said in disgust. "They're _**worse**_ than children . . ." Leaning over the sink, she grabbed a handful of paper towels and began cleaning up the orange juice from the floor as she picked up the conversation where they had left off. "Look, Kefira, it's not that I don't want to help. But I think Hadji is right. If the announcement that you've married is going to put your family at risk, then it's not something that you should be running to do. Trust me, he loves you enough that he's not going to let Bangalore politics come between the two of you. He'll find a way out of this. I think the best bet is for you to stay here and let Hadji deal with the problem for a while. Then, if necessary, you can go home to your parents' house to stay and . . ."

"Go to my parents?" Kefira looked at Jessie like she'd lost her mind. "But . . . but I cannot do that! What would I say to my father? Or my _mother?_ I would bring shame to my entire family . . ."

Jessie stared at her in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You want me to go to my father and tell him that I married Hadji . . . the Sultan of our country . . . and that he has refused to consummate the union?" Kefira was seriously agitated and Jessie realized that in some way she had erred badly.

"Slow down!" Jessie commanded sharply. Tossing the used towels into the trashcan, she pulled up the other bar stool and sat down facing her friend. "Take a deep breath and tell me what's happened. Why is it wrong for you to return to your family?"

"Because I have married Hadji," she repeated. Seeing the confused look on Jessie's face, she said, "I cannot look to them any longer . . ."

"Whoa! Wait just a minute! What do you mean, you can't 'look to them' any longer?"

"Because I cannot," Kefira replied simply. Seeing that her explanation had not helped, she continued, "I thought you understood this. When a woman in our culture marries, her loyalties must change. She becomes a part of her husband's family and must look to them when she is in need. The ties to her own family are severed. She cannot look to her parents for aid. To do so brings shame on both families . . . the woman's because they obviously raised her badly, and her husband's because they cannot or will not provide for her."

Jessie's face changed as the implications of the situation began to sink in. "And what happens to you if Hadji denounces you?"

"If no one finds out about the marriage, I return to my father's house where I _must_ tell him the truth. My father is an ethical man. Consummated or not, my marriage to Hadji is real and would prevent him from ever being able to seek another husband for me. The dowry price would be much too high. I would be . . ." she paused and then shrugged, ". . . 'damaged goods', I believe is the phrase you use here. And if word of the marriage were to become known, then my life would be forfeit."

"Forf . . . you mean they would_ kill_ you?" Jessie exclaimed in horror.

Kefira shrugged again. "It is the law and such practices are still common. I do not know if they **would** actually kill me . . . the union with the Sultan is an extremely public one, and there is a tremendous amount of pressure right now to put a stop to such practices. What is certain is that should this happen, the best thing for me to do would be to kill myself. If I do not, then it is certain that the situation would destroy my family." Seeing her expression, Kefira sighed. "Jessie, things in my country are not like they are here. Women are property . . . first of their father and then of their husbands. We do not have the freedom that you do. I have been allowed to continue on to school and to spend time in my father's mines because he humors me. I think that even I realized that no matter what my dreams were for the future, I would never truly have been able to do what I wanted. The best I could have hoped for was a husband that worked in the mines that would have allowed me to continue as I had done in the past."

"But India is such a progressive country . . ."

"We are not India. And the truth is, in many places in India, practices like this are still commonplace. For example, in some areas, killing female children at birth is the only way a family can survive. And Bangalore is worse than most because of Vikram and his father. They isolated the country for so long and resurrected many of the old traditions." She turned her head away, her eyes haunted. "When I was 12, there was a girl I grew up with . . . she was two years older than me and my best friend when we were young. I was forced to watch as she was burned alive on her 67-year-old husband's funeral pyre because tradition called for a man's wife to join him in death." At Jessie's strangled sound of protest, she looked up at her again. "He is trying to change things, Jessie. He is trying so very hard . . . but it is not easy."

"He didn't know, Kefira!" Jessie said fiercely. "He never would have put you in this position if he realized what he was doing."

"I know," the Indian girl replied quietly. "And I could have said no when he suggested that we marry. But I did not . . . because I did not want to. Jessie, I love him, and I would sacrifice anything for him. You, of all people, must understand how this feels . . ."

Jessie was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Yes . . . yes, I understand."

"Then will you help me? Will you tell me what I must do?"

As though coming to a decision, Jessie rose determinedly to her feet. Smiling at the other girl she said briskly, "Okay, I don't think it will take you much to convince him. Trust me, he's not disinterested. He's already dressed for the occasion, and I doubt he's asleep yet. He won't until he knows you're out of the shower and settled. So, here's what you're gonna do . . ." Kefira leaned forward, listening attentively. "Take your shower. When you get done, wrap up in the towel and leave your clothes in the bathroom. I'll take care of them."

Kefira's lips twitched suddenly. "I am assuming your planned sleeping arrangements put Hadji and I in the same bed this time."

"Unless you have some objection to that arrangement . . . "

Kefira laughed softly and stepped up to hug the other girl. "I love you dearly, Jessie Bannon," she said. "You are truly my sister." Stepping back again, she demanded, "Then what do I do?"

Jessie shook her head. "Go directly to the bedroom, shed the towel, and get into bed. Beyond that, I really can't give you any advice. I've only known one man, so I can't say if what works for Jonny would work for Hadji. I think it's probably better that you figure that out on your own. Just don't be shy and don't take 'no' for an answer." She grinned at Kefira suddenly. "You're stubborn enough to win this war, and I just don't think he's got that much will power. Get going, before his exhaustion overwhelms him. You don't want him falling asleep before you get there."

Kefira still hesitated. "Jessie, how can I ever thank you?"

"By being sure that you end up as my sister permanently. Get going!"

With a final smile, Kefira turned and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Using the towel, Kefira wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and stared at the image reflected there. Not for the first time, she wondered what it was that Hadji had seen in her that night in the Royal Palace in Bangalore. She wasn't pretty. Her mouth was too big and her eyes were too widely set. Daria had told her often enough that when she got angry, her expression could curdle milk . . . and that was exactly the way he had seen her that first time. So what was it that the most important person in all of Bangalore saw in Rajeev Subramanian's overly intelligent and independent middle daughter? She really didn't know. What she did know was that she loved him with all her heart and one way or another, she would fight to keep him. By law, she was his wife. Now it was time she became so in all other ways. 

Picking up the towel, she wrapped it under her arms and then opened the bathroom door. Kefira glanced toward the living room and saw Jessie appear at the head of the hallway. She sketched an encouraging, thumbs-up sign and Kefira nodded. Gathering her courage, she hitched the towel up, opened the door quietly, and slipped in, closing it behind her.

Hadji was still awake, and he started upright, grasping frantically at the sheet as she crossed the room toward him.

"Kefira! What . . . I thought . . . what . . . what are you doing here?" he sputtered, staring at her like she was a cobra poised to strike.

"Where else should I be?" she asked. Pulling the towel loose, she released it and let it fall to the floor at her feet. She heard him gasp softly as it fell away and then his breathing increased sharply. She stood there quietly for a long moment letting him stare. Then, before he had the chance to gather his scattered wits, she grasped the sheet and pulled it out of his grasp. She'd wondered if maybe he might have found something to wear after all, but he hadn't. She heard her own breath catch as she let her eyes wander over his lean, smoothly muscled body. She felt herself tremble at the evidence of his arousal, and moved quickly to join him in the bed before her own fear and uncertainty froze her in place. Sliding over, she pressed her body against his and snuggled in tightly, running one hand up his side and reveling in the feeling of his bare skin against hers. Where their bodies met, heat flared, and she felt it flow through her, igniting a fire she'd never experienced before. She whispered his name in a soft, breathy voice and rubbed her face against his bare chest as her hands caressed him from his shoulders, down across his buttocks and back up his side. The shudder that ran through his body was strong, and she was aware of the hard erection that pressed against her upper thigh. Remembering Jessie's admonishment about not being shy, she allowed her hand to drift down his body, but as she ran light fingers down his groin, he reached out and stopped it.

"Kefira, please, we cannot . . ." he protested, trying to draw away from her, but she clung to him tightly.

"You told me that you loved me."

"I do. But you know . . ."

"You also said that you desired me," she continued, pulling her hand free from his grasp and letting it drift up his side toward his shoulders again.

"I do." The response was almost a moan

"Then I do not see the problem, because I desire you as well."

"Kefira, we have been through this. It is necessary that I . . . "

"You are my husband," she said flatly.

"That was a mistake." Pulling away, Hadji levered himself up on one elbow and looked down at her, fighting the urges of his body desperately. "Kefira, I was panicked by the attack against you. I grasped at anything that I thought would protect you. I should have realized that doing so would only draw you more deeply into the mire that is my life. The best I can do is to try to extricate both you and your family from this mess."

"Hadji . . ."

He cut her off. "No! I cannot risk . . ."

Leaning in, she silenced him with her mouth. His lips were parted when hers fastened on them and she let her tongue slide into his mouth, flicking against his and caressing the smooth surface of his teeth. When he tried to pull away, she tightened her arms around him and allowed her hands to rove more widely. She felt him shudder again as she ran light fingers down his chest, across his groin, and up the rigid hardness of his erection, causing him to moan loudly. Ruthlessly, she laid back, using a firm grip and her own body weight to draw him down on top of her. She could feel his resistance weakening as he fought to control his reactions to what she was doing, and knew she was winning. She broke the kiss and drew his head lower, until his lips rested against her neck. Arching her head back, she whispered in a low, breathy voice,

"Please, Hadji. I love you. Do not make me beg . . ." That brought a soft, strangled sound of protest from him, and he pulled back to look down at her again. " . . . because I will if I have to."

He reached down and stroked her cheek gently with his thumb. She could see pain as well as desire in his eyes. "Just the other day you said you were not ready for this."

"The other day, I was not your wife."

"I told you . . ."

"Please, Hadji, I _am_ begging you . . ."

"Don't . . ."

" . . . please make love to me . . . "

"Kefira, please . . . "

". . . I will do anything . . ."

_**"Stop!** Please . . ."_

"I cannot go on without you. Not any more." She reached up tugged at the clasp that held his hair until it came loose and tumbled down around his face. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the thick, silky mass. The sensuous feel of it sliding through her fingers made her moan and writhe under him. Her eyes were huge and smoky as she gazed up at him, and he could feel the desire well up in him with such intensity he couldn't have replied if he'd wanted to. "Please, husband. I am yours by Royal declaration, by law, by heart, and by soul. All that remains is to make me yours by body, also, and I want it more than anything else in the world." Using the hand that had been playing with his hair, she caught the back of his neck and drew him down to kiss her again. As their lips met, she grasped his free hand and laid it on one of her breasts.

Hadji was still for a moment, and then his thumb flicked across the nipple lightly. He was rewarded immediately by a passionate moan that he could feel rumbling deep in her chest, and her hands clutched at his shoulders convulsively. His lips moved over her mouth, the hunger for her raging through him. Some part of his mind seemed to be telling him that he should stop . . . that if he continued, there would be no going back . . . no matter what the potential consequences. But that voice of reason was getting softer and harder to hear with each passing second.

He had married her. Yes, part of the reason had been to provide her with as much shelter as he could. But he knew he would be lying to both her and himself if he tried to say that was the only reason. He also married her because he loved her, and deep in his heart he was terrified that someone or something would come along and take her away from him. When he saw her fall and thought her dead, it had been as though his life was ending. He'd gone after the man with the gun with absolutely no thought for his own safety. He had little or no memory of what he had done in those succeeding seconds. Nothing had penetrated again until he heard her moan and he stumbled away from the man to find her stirring feebly. Even then, the numbness really hadn't left him. But feeling her lying here in his arms now, her hands caressing him eagerly, her lips soft and willing against his, he suddenly felt alive again for the first time since the gunshot shattered the peace of that dark New York night.

All will he had to resist her advances crumbled, and he crushed her to him, kissing her fiercely. His hands developed a life of their own, stroking and caressing . . . searching hungrily for things that caused her body to arch against his. She responded passionately, making breathless, incoherent cries that only inflamed him further. But when a particularly sharp move caused her cry to be tinged with pain, sanity washed over him like a draught of cold water and he sat up abruptly.

"No!" she cried desperately, grabbing at him and trying to pull him back.

"I hurt you," he gasped.

"You did not!"

"Yes, I did," he insisted, scooting away from her. "I will not hurt you!" Breathing heavily, he searched frantically for the strength to quell the animal passion that drove him. Slowly, he brought himself under control and the wild, mindless need receded to a steady, throbbing ache in his groin. He watched as she sat up and huddled against the headboard of the bed. Wrapping her arms around her body, she laid her forehead on her knees until her hair fell forward and shrouded her body. Then she started to cry.

"Do not cry," he begged her. "I am sorry. I did not mean to."

"I knew . . . " she sobbed.

He looked at her in confusion, upset at her obvious distress. "Knew?" he ventured.

"I knew . . . I would never be . . . good enough," she said raggedly "You . . . you are . . . right . . . not to . . . want me . . ."

_"No!"_ he said explosively. He launched himself toward her, grabbed and held her tightly. "No, Kefira! You do not understand. It is not that I do not want you." He forced her head up, brushing her hair out of her face, making her look at him. "My love, it is that I want you _too_ much. I could not control myself and I was hurting you. I will not allow it to be that way between us."

She sniffed, trying to stop her tears as she gazed up at him. He sat in the middle of the bed and cradled her against his chest, stroking her hair and rocking her gently.

"How can you possibly believe that I do not want you?" he asked her gently. "I want you so much, I ache for you. Why do you find that so hard to believe?"

"I have never been . . . I am not even . . . Daria always told me . . ."

"Daria! Why would you listen to what she says?" Hadji exclaimed. "She is an idiot!"

"Daria is not . . ." Kefira bristled reflexively, but then she stopped. Looking up at him, her eyes widened and suddenly her lips twitched. "Actually, I think you are right . . . she is not very smart. But she is very beautiful."

"So are you." When she would have shaken her head, he stopped her. "So . . . are . . . you," he said with a quiet finality that allowed no room for argument. He eased her down so she lay on the bed again and slid down beside her. Propping himself up on an elbow, he gazed at her seriously. "I told my mother the other day that I have never asked for anything from Bangalore for myself other than the right to choose my own wife. And I did choose her . . . I chose you . . . not because I had to have a wife, but rather, because you were everything I ever dreamed I might find."

"Then why do you refuse me?" she asked him, bewildered. "I am yours by right . . ."

"You are not property!" he exclaimed angrily. "I have no rights in this matter other than those you give to me of your own free will." Then, as quickly as his anger had flared, it faded. He sighed and hung his head. When he looked up, the sorrow in his face made her want to cry. "How can I take you, knowing that the very thing I want so much is certain to cost you those people you hold most dear? Arun Birla will kill your family, Kefira. You know it as well as I do. How can I do that to you?"

"And what about you? What will Arun Birla do to you? Forgetting about my family for a moment, what will he do to you when you set foot back in Bangalore?" He opened his mouth to reply, but she reached up and laid her fingers over his lips, stopping him. "I know you must go back. It is more than my family at stake . . . it is all of the people of Bangalore . . . people who have no way of protecting themselves against men like Arun Birla. No matter what my feelings are in the matter, I know you must go. I would go with you if you would only permit it. But Hadji, you say that you have no rights other than what I would grant you, and yet by refusing me, you deny me what I most want to give. Please, beloved, just this once, can you not set aside Bangalore and all of her problems and let this moment be just for us?"

He gazed down at her, shaken by the depth of his feelings for this woman. "Are you certain, Kefira? If we do this, there will be no going back."

"There is no going back now, husband. There wasn't from the instant I set eyes on you. And even if there was, I would not do it. I, too, have chosen . . . I have chosen you and no matter what happens, I will never regret that decision. I want to be your wife . . . now and for all the days to come . . . no matter how many of them there may be." She reached up and caressed the side of his face gently. "Will you permit me that honor?"

He gazed at her for a long moment before he replied, "I love you very much, Kefira Singh, and I always will." Then he leaned down and kissed her. There was no hesitation now, either in his lips or in his hands as they began to rove across her body once more. He moved carefully, but with pointed intent, searching to arouse the passions that had burned so hotly in her not long before. She responded avidly, returning his kisses with an abandonment that reignited the fire in him, as well. Kefira was right. Whatever the future held in store for them, this moment was for them alone. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

  


The sound of the bathroom door opening brought Jessie to the head of the hallway. She smiled and gave Kefira a thumbs-up as she saw her hesitate. Kefira nodded slightly, then hitched up the towel, opened the door and disappeared inside. As she turned away, Jessie's smile was slightly nostalgic. Kefira had looked scared, but determined, as she disappeared through that doorway . . . a feeling Jessie remembered only too well. Silently wishing Kefira good luck, she turned and surveyed the apartment. Both she and Jonny and been very busy during the past week and things were looking a bit cluttered. Automatically, she began picking up as she reviewed the things that she needed to do.

She would need to do some shopping. Aside from needing supplies for their trip, there wasn't much in the house to eat. Also, Hadji needed clothes. She hadn't been lying when she told him that Jonny simply wouldn't have anything that would fit him. Over the last two years or so, the two of them had hit that final growth spurt, and both had changed dramatically. Jonny was only about an inch or two taller than Hadji, but where Jonny had filled out, ending up very broad through the shoulders, Hadji had retained that lean, whip-like musculature that was often common in the taller members of his people. Kefira and Jessie, on the other hand, were very much the same size and had been sharing clothing since the day they first met.

There was also another stop she needed to make . . . to a place even Jonny knew nothing about. Her face became grim as she considered that trip. She had no illusions about the dangers that faced the two young men on their trip to Hadji's homeland. Her parents had often said that she had a built-in radar for trouble and they were right. The truth was, this entire situation stunk . . . it had set-up written all over it. But no matter how obvious the trap, Jessie understood that Hadji had no choice but to walk into it, just as she understood that Jonny would never let him enter it alone. Neither would she, if there was any other choice in the matter. But if there was anything her father had taught her, it was that all members of a team are essential, no matter what role they are tagged to play. Her role in this one . . . at least for right now . . . was to guard their flank . . . but she wasn't about to let them walk in there unprepared.

Several years before, when Jessie had reached an age where Race realized that the day might come when she would be forced to stand alone in a firefight, he had taken her on a trip to New York. It was a trip that none of the others, including her mother, ever knew about. And there, Race Bannon had introduced his only daughter to the select few men he ever really trusted in the intelligence game. These people, he told her, were those she could rely on for help if things got really bad. With one exception, they weren't agents . . . rather, they were suppliers . . . of weapons . . . of information . . . of clandestine documents . . . of escape routes. These people owed Race Bannon debts that ran deep enough that loyalties were transferable to his daughter if the need arose. Well, the need was here.

She contemplated logistics for a moment. The man she needed to see no longer lived in New York. Rather, he now lived outside Boston on the north side. She glanced at the clock . . . 10:15 . . . too early to be going to see him yet. She figured the earliest she could land there was after lunch. That gave her some time to get laundry finished up and make a list of the other things she was going to need. Jonny wasn't going to like it, but she was also going to tap another source that was at their disposal. They had to have money . . . both pocket money and to pay for equipment and supplies that they were going to need to take with them. It was money she and Jonny really didn't have right now. But there was a way for her to lay her hands on the needed funds. Again, her father's foresight demonstrated why he had been such a good covert agent in his day. Years before, Race had established an account that held a large sum of money that could be accessed in emergencies. None of them had ever touched it, but today she would, and she sent grateful thoughts northward toward her father in Maine for having made it possible. It would guarantee that she could get the things she needed and that Jonny and Hadji would have money to buy themselves out of trouble, if necessary.

Having cleared a corner of the living room, she picked up the few things that Hadji had managed to bring with him and set them on the love seat. Included was a polished wooden box about twelve inches square by two inches deep. She looked at it curiously, wondering what was inside. Kefira had told her that he had been extremely insistent about the need to retrieve it before they left. She wasn't sure where he had kept it stored . . . obviously not in his apartment, since they both said they hadn't been able to return there . . . but whatever was inside, was apparently important enough for Hadji to risk capture to recover it.

_Laundry first,_ she thought. That would give her the opportunity to assess what they had and then she would know what she needed to buy. She turned from the living room and headed down the hall toward the bedroom to begin gathering up dirty clothes. She had picked up towels and dirty clothes in the bathroom, returned them to the living room and was just getting ready to enter her bedroom when suddenly, well-known sounds from the other room caused her to pause. She stood, listening briefly as a wide grin formed on her face. She pumped her arm sharply and whispered softly, _**"YES!"**_ before she opened the door to her bedroom and disappeared inside. As she closed the door, she couldn't help but notice that the sounds weren't much muted by the closed doors and the hallway between the two rooms.

Moving as quietly as she could, she began to gather up the laundry that was scattered throughout the room. Even though she tried to make no noise, the movement in the room caused Jonny to stir.

"Jess?" he mumbled blearily. "Wha' time ish it?"

"Hush," she whispered. She sat down beside him on the bed and stroked his hair gently. "You've only been in bed about an hour. You have lots of time yet. Go back to sleep."

He rolled over and curled up around her leg. "Ummm, thas good." Snuggling up to her, he murmured, "Why don' you come to bed? You've got time, don' you?"

"If I come to bed, you won't sleep."

He smiled without opening his eyes. "Yes, I will," he replied. "Eventually." Suddenly, he frowned and rolled his head to one side, opening his eyes. "What's that noise?"

The grin Jessie gave him was decidedly wicked. "What does it sound like?"

"It sounds like . . ." He trailed off and his eyes widened suddenly as the distinctive sounds finally connected, "That isn't . . . they can't . . . "

Jessie giggled suddenly. "They can and from what I can hear, they most certainly are!"

Jonny flopped over onto his back, in shock. "Oh my god." Suddenly he grabbed Jessie's pillow and pulled it over his face. "I don't want to hear that! He's my _brother_ . . ."

Jessie snatched it off of his head and grinned down at him. "Oh, c'mon, Jonny. Give him a break. After all, he covered for us enough times!"

He sighed. "True." Suddenly, he eyed her suspiciously. "You had something to do with this, didn't you?" Jessie just grinned at him impudently. "You _**did!**_ That whispered conversation you had with Kefira in Blackman's bedroom . . . the way you hustled me off to bed . . ." She just sat, smiling at him slyly as he continued his train of thought. "Hadji would never have . . . Kefira! She asked you to help her, didn't she?"

Jessie held up one hand. "I plead the fifth on the grounds that what I say may be used against me," she intoned solemnly, though her eyes twinkled with merriment.

Jonny just shook his head and grinned up at her in delight. "Why you little _matchmaker_ . . . c'mere!" He reached up and tumbled her over into bed, rolling with her until she was pinned under him. Leaning down, he captured her mouth with his own as he began fumbling at her clothing.

As their ardor increased, Jessie wondered fleetingly what Mrs. Taylor must be thinking just then. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
It was about two hours later when Jessie stirred once again. Moving carefully, she slid out of Jonny's loosened grasp and eased out of bed. This time, her movements didn't even make him stir. She stood looking down at him silently. His sleep was deep and dreamless, and a small smile touched the corners of his mouth. _Please God,_ she begged silently, _don't let anyone take him away from me. I don't think I could bear it._ It took all the strength she could muster to turn away from him and return to the tasks she had set for herself. 

She carried the laundry out into the living room and began sorting it. As she did so, she happened to look up and see the flashing light on the answering machine. Suddenly, she remembered Jonny's question about whether she'd checked messages and figured maybe she'd better do that while she had the chance. Walking over, she hit the play button, noting idly that the machine showed three messages. Then she went back to sorting the laundry. After a minute, she looked up with a frown, wondering what had happened to the answering machine. It was taking too long to kick into playback. But just as she was about ready to go over and check it, the tape started to play.

**BEEP**

_"Jonny, this is your dad. Are you there? . . . . . If you are, please pick up. . . . . . I guess you aren't. Well, it's about 8:30 on Wednesday morning. When you get in, would you call home? Okay, I'll talk to you soon. Bye."_

Jessie shook her head. Eight-thirty on a Wednesday morning and he's calling, expecting to find his son at home. On a workday. She thought with amusement that there was some truth to the old adage about scientists in their ivory towers.

**BEEP**

_"Jonny? It's your dad again. Are you home now? I never heard back from you. Well, all right. It's now Wednesday evening at about 7:00. Call me when you get in, would you? It doesn't matter how late. I have something I want to discuss with you. Call me, please."_

Jessie tossed a pair of jeans into a pile with a little more force than she intended. Dr. Quest never asked for her when he left those messages on their machine. Or asked how she was . . . or how school was going. He hadn't since the day they walked out the door of the Compound for the last time, regardless of his final parting words to her. She had tried every way she knew how to reach out to him, but apparently he just didn't want anything to do with her.

**BEEP**

_"Jonny, are you there? It's . . ."_

"Hello?"

"Jonny?"

"Dad? Is something wrong?"

Jessie froze, listening to the tape. Jonny had been slow to answer the phone, and before he'd gotten to it, the machine had picked up. Unless he turned it off, it would run until the phone was hung up again or until the tape ran out. Obviously, it had recorded the entire conversation. Feeling a little like an eavesdropper, she finished tossing the handful of clothing she held into various piles and then started to pick her way across the room to turn off the machine. But suddenly, part of the conversation stopped her.

_" . . . talk with your employer and get them to agree to let you work part time, I could talk to President Vest and see about getting you admitted to M.I.T. for spring term. You could probably work about 10 hours a week as long as you only carried about 14 hours. That seems fair, doesn't it?"_

"Ten hours a week?"

_Well, that's a new tact,_ Jessie mused. At least he'd gotten away from harping at him to quit entirely. One step toward compromise . . . finally. Maybe things were starting to improve.

_". . . cut back like that! I barely manage to get everything done at work now. Furthermore, if I drop back from full time, we won't have the money to pay the rent, plus I lose all of my benefits, which means Jess and I don't have insurance or anything like that!"_

"Jonny, if you'll do this, I'll pay your tuition and your rent. You won't need the money or the benefits, so it won't matter."

_Listen to him, Jonny,_ Jessie found herself urging him. _He's trying. Don't shut him out!_

_"Won't matter? Of course it will matter! What do you think I'm doing, playing an oversized game of House with Jess? These people pay me to do a job . . . a job that needs to be done. They rely on me . . ."_

"Jonny, you're 18 years old. Do you honestly believe that they would turn that kind of responsibility over to someone so young without having some sort of a fallback plan? It's nice of them to give you a job, but . . ."

Jessie froze. Had she just heard him right? Did he really just imply that Jonny wasn't capable of doing this job? Had he actually _said_ that to his son?

_" . . . Do you honestly believe they would have even looked at you if it hadn't been for me? Whether you want to admit it or not, you have that job because you're my son, and . . ."_

For a long moment, the rage that filled Jessie drowned out everything. She had tried to be fair . . . tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. But to have said _**THAT**_ to Jonny, when he was working so hard . . . The loud click of the answering machine shutting off brought her back to reality. She would **not** stand by and allow Benton Quest to undermine his son's confidence and sense of self-worth. Her hands shook with the force of her fury as she dialed the phone, and it took two tries to get the number right. Once she finally did, all she got was a busy signal. She disconnected and tried again. The same. Turning away from the phone, she sat down at the desk and called up the vid-phone software on her computer. A few quick keystrokes and the system reached out across the lines to connect with IRIS. One way or the other, she was going to give Benton Quest a piece of her mind . . .


	21. Chapter 21

**

Chapter Twenty-one

**

  
  


It was almost noon when Barbara Mason got out of her car in front of the main house at the Quest Compound. Race stood on the flagstones waiting for her.

"So?" she asked immediately.

Race shook his head. "I haven't told him yet. I went out there to do it, but he was still in a foul temper and in absolutely no mood to listen. I simply made up an excuse about needing something and retreated."

"You know, I used to think this family had the most even tempers of anyone I had ever met," she replied in disgust. "What happened?"

Race smiled weakly. "Hormones?"

"Or advanced senility . . . I'm not sure which."

"Probably both."

Squaring her shoulders, she replied, "Well, let's get it over with so I can take a look at Estella. Where is he?"

"Still out in the lab. Come on." The two of them strode purposefully around the corner of the house and made their way to the lighthouse.

Barbara looked around with interest. This was one of the few places in the Quest Compound that she'd never visited. It was much more spacious than it appeared from the outside. There were no walls on the interior, so you entered the main door into one large circular room. Unlike most lighthouses, which were generally about ten to twelve feet in diameter on the interior, this one was probably closer to 25 feet. Whitewashed walls and carefully recessed lighting kept it from being either too dark or too brightly lit. The spiral staircase that led to the second floor was of black wrought iron and was situated on the far side of the room from the door. A beautiful seascape of Nova Scotia and two watercolors of Rockport and Camden harbors hung in an alcove that held a comfortable-looking seating area. The rest of the first floor was taken up with storage cabinets. The whole thing was remarkably welcoming for a lighthouse.

Race saw her surprised look and grinned slightly. "Not quite what you expected?"

"No, definitely not. This is _not_ the original lighthouse," she said with conviction.

Race laughed. "Not even close. When we bought this place, the original lighthouse was still here. I think there was something about the place that touched the romantic side of Benton's soul . . ." He chuckled at her look. "No, really, he does have one! But the original structure simply wouldn't accommodate a research lab. So he tore down the old one and built this one."

Barbara frowned. "He did? I don't remember it being torn down. This looks just like the one I remember as a child." She looked around again. ". . . only bigger."

"It should look the same," Race agreed. "You have no idea how hard he tried to modify the old one to make it work. When he realized it wasn't going to happen, he disassembled the old one, piece-by-piece, built the new one in the exact same style as the old one, and used the original stone to face it so it would look just the same as before. Initially, the Coast Guard was unhappy about it. But when Benton told them that as long as they would allow him to use the structure for his own purposes, he would take over the maintenance, cost and all, of the lighthouse, they changed their tune. So now it's Benton's lab and we ensure that the light stays on and warns ships about the point."

"How many floors are there?"

"This is kind of a reception area. There are very few people that Benton will allow inside at all, and even fewer that he allows beyond this point. The second floor is the main lab, there's a secondary lab on a third floor, and then there's an observation level that's all glass and finally the light. There's also a large room below ground level that's blasted out of the bedrock that houses the actual mainframe computer systems."

Barbara just shook her head. "I'm impressed."

Race just chuckled. "Come on. He's in the main lab, I think." The two of them climbed the spiral staircase and emerged into a large, open room filled with computer consoles. Sitting slightly away from the center of the room, was a grouping of four support chairs. The wall directly opposite the staircase looked different and Barbara finally decided that it must be some sort of view screen. It ran ceiling to floor and was about eight feet across. To the left of that was a bank of smaller, wall mounted monitors. She looked around, searching for Benton, but he was nowhere in sight. Just as she was about to ask Race where he might have gone, Benton appeared from behind one of the large consoles on the right-hand side of the room.

Spotting them, he glared and said sourly, "What do you want? I'm busy."

Before Race could reply, IRIS' neutral tone interrupted.

"THERE IS AN INCOMING CALL VIA COMPUTER ACCESS FROM JESSICA BANNON FOR DR. BENTON QUEST. DO YOU WISH ME TO PUT THIS CALL THROUGH?"

Barbara and Race exchanged concerned glances as Benton responded grumpily, "Oh hell, why not. What's one more interruption? Put it though."

The large monitor on the far side of the room suddenly flickered to life and Jessie Bannon appeared on the screen. She was obviously sitting at a desk and behind her, they all got a quick glimpse of a room with blue floral wallpaper and white furniture before everyone's attention focused on Jessie. One look at her face told them they were in for a rough time. Her eyes locked on Benton.

"How DARE you!" she hissed at him in fury.

"What do you want?" Benton repeated. "I'm busy."

"Don't you _**ever**_ do that to him again, do you hear me? I don't care if your whole life goes straight down the toilet, I will NOT allow you to undermine him or make him feel worthless just to boost your morale!"

"I wouldn't have to point out the obvious to him if he'd just listen to reason," Benton snapped back, his face flushing angrily. "If you would help me rather than supporting this idiocy, we wouldn't be in this position."

"Jessie, wait!" Barbara interrupted frantically. "Take it easy . . ."

If anything, Jessie's fury became even more pronounced and she plowed right on, completely ignoring Barbara. "He's right. You _don't_ give damn. He's not interested in the stuff you enjoy, so he's little more than a piece of furniture to you!"

"That's a lie . . ." Benton began hotly, but Jessie cut him off sharply,

"You listen to me, you bastard. If I find out that you've done something like this again, I'll make certain that he **NEVER** talks to you. Do you understand me? _**NEVER!**_"

"Easy, Jess," Race said. "You're upset . . ."

"You're damned right I'm upset and I will _**NOT**_ take it easy," she snarled, turning her glare on her father. "Jonny doesn't deserve _any_ of this, and he hasn't from the very beginning. He works hard, he never makes demands on anyone else, and he helps everyone around him . . . even when it's not his job." They could literally see the young woman shaking. "I couldn't understand . . . but now I see . . ."

"Couldn't understand what, Ponchita," Race said, deliberately using her childhood pet name in an effort to distract her and break down the fury that consumed her.

"Why, when he talks about himself to others he always describes himself as 'the dumb one'. He's **NOT** dumb," she said fiercely. "And he's not incapable, and he's doing a damned good job of making a place for himself, and providing for me." Her eyes flicked back to Benton again. "And regardless of how much you think of yourself, you self-centered, egotistical sonofabitch, you had _nothing_ to do with him getting this job. He did it on his own merits. What's more, he _loves_ what he's doing . . . more than anything _**you**_ ever had him work on. He's done _**nothing**_ to deserve having you say those things to him, and I won't tolerate it! You just remember what I said, Dr. Quest. If you want to be a part of your son's life . . . of **Rachel's son's** life, then you better not do this again, or I swear to you . . . I'll see to it that you won't have the chance to do it a third time!" They all watched as she reached out and hit a key in front of her. The screen flashed and then she was gone. 

After a long moment of silence, IRIS' quiet, uninflected voice stated, "THE TRANSMISSION HAS BEEN TERMINATED FROM THE INITIATOR'S SYSTEM. DO YOU WISH TO TRY TO REINSTATE THE CONNECTION?"

Barbara crossed to where Benton stood, rigid and furious. "No, IRIS," she replied. "Leave it. We'll talk to her later." Barbara laid her hand on Benton's arm. "Benton?"

He turned his head slowly and the look he gave her was glacial. "If Jonny chooses to go his own way, there's nothing I can do about it. I've tried everything I know to do, and he won't listen. So let the two of them dig their own grave. It's their life." He turned away. "Just leave me alone. I'm busy."

Race and Barbara watched as he walked away and disappeared behind one of the consoles once more. Barbara looked at her companion, fear evident in her face. But Race shook his head and grabbed her arm, drawing her toward the stairs again. When they reached the first floor, they stopped and Race commanded quietly, "IRIS, monitor Benton Quest's vital signs closely. If there are any fluctuations in them at all, you are to notify Barbara Mason and myself immediately. Also, do not allow any calls through to Dr. Quest at all . . . even family members. They are to be routed to me. Repeat instructions, please."

"MONITOR BENTON QUEST'S VITAL SIGNS AND NOTIFY RACE BANNON AND BARBARA MASON OF ANY FLUCTUATIONS IMMEDIATELY. STOP ALL INCOMING CALLS TO BENTON QUEST AND ROUTE THEM TO RACE BANNON. SPECIFY DURATION OF INSTRUCTIONS, PLEASE."

"Until further notice. Also, please route all e-mail from Benton Quest's account to the account for Race Bannon."

"PLEASE SPECIFY EXTENT OF TRANSFER."

"All existing mail currently in the account that is unread, and all incoming mail until further notice."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN MESSAGES HAVE BEEN TRANSFERRED. FORWARDING ORDER HAS BEEN INSTITUTED. PLEASE SPECIFY E-MAIL ADDRESS AND PHONE NUMBER FOR BARBARA MASON."

Race looked at her questioningly, but Barbara shook her head. "I don't have a home or office computer, Race."

He sighed and then addressed IRIS once more. "Establish an e-mail address and ISP access for Barbara Mason on the Quest system. Hold for further instructions."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

Grabbing Barbara's arm, he drew her from the lighthouse and they set off at a rapid pace for the main house. When the back door closed behind them, Race stopped and leaned against it.

"Dear Lord," he breathed. "And I thought it couldn't get worse." After a moment, he looked at Barbara. "You said there would be an explosion between Benton and my daughter sooner or later . . ."

Barbara nodded wearily. "It was inevitable. Although I have to admit that I really didn't anticipate it would happen this way. My God, Race, what could he possibly have said to Jonny that would have set her off like that?"

Race sighed. "My daughter tends to be pretty literal in situations like this. I'd say that Benton told Jonny that the reason he got that job . . . whatever it is . . . is that he was Benton's son and that they were only keeping him on as charity."

"Oh yes, that would have done it!" Barbara agreed. "Benton could have said anything he pleased about her and she wouldn't have said a word, but she won't tolerate seeing Jonny undermined by anyone, especially his father."

"What the hell are we going to do?"

"I honestly don't know."

"And we didn't even have the chance to tell him about Hadji."

"Oh hell . . ."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Well, I don't see anything obvious," Barbara said to Estella some time later. "Protein levels haven't fluctuated since the last time we ran them and your blood pressure is the same too. If I had to guess, I'd say that getting up on your feet and moving around caused your blood pressure to fluctuate. A sudden drop in pressure might explain that episode."

Estella breathed a sigh of relief. "That means that you aren't going to tell me that I have to go to the hospital, right?"

"No, I don't see any reason at this point. But I do think this is something that the two of you need to face." Barbara looked from Race to Estella seriously. "This is escalating quicker than I hoped it would. You aren't going to be able to hold out much longer unless it stabilizes, and I have to tell you that I don't think it will. It rarely does after blood pressure and protein levels get this high."

"Make your point, Barbara," Race said quietly, sitting on the bed behind his wife and putting his arms around her. "What are you telling us?"

"That we need to get you situated with a specialist in Portland and that you need to be preparing for the inevitable . . . that you're going to end up in Maine Medical Center very, very soon." Estella made a tiny sound of distress and Race tightened his arms and nuzzled the top of her head.

"Benton told me you were planning on calling in a specialist," he said.

"We have to," Barbara told him firmly. "We need someone who can ensure the best and most up-to-date care for both Estella and the baby. There's a good man there . . . Saied Eftekari . . . I know him personally and have worked with him before. I've already talked with him and he's agreed to take Estella as a patient."

"So what do we do now?"

"I'm going to set up an appointment for you to see him next week. I'll let you know when. I think that when you go down to see him, you need to pack a bag and be prepared to stay. He may not think it necessary yet, but you need to be ready if that's what happens."

"You think he'll keep her," Race said.

Barbara sighed. "Yes, I think he will." Barbara reached out and caught the other woman's hand and squeezed it encouragingly. "I'm not abandoning you, Estella. I've already contacted the Medical Center and provided them with all of my current credentials and asked that they reactivate my privileges. The head of their Credentialing Department assures me there should be no problem. And Dr. Eftekari has already agreed to allow me to remain on your medical team. We'll make it through this, I promise you."

Estella squeezed Barbara's hand in return and whispered, "Thank you . . ."

"MR. BANNON, A LARGE TRUCK HAS TURNED ONTO THE ACCESS ROAD TO THIS FACILITY. IDENTIFICATION MARKS INDICATE THIS IS THE ANTICIPATED TRANSPORT FOR THE NEW LABORATORY EQUIPMENT. YOU LEFT INSTRUCTIONS TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN THEY ARRIVED."

Race sighed. "You know, for once in his life, I really wish Benton would quit working for a while. All right, IRIS, I'm on my way. When they reach the main gate, have them wait. I'll be with them shortly."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

"So you need me for anything else?" Race asked them.

The two women shook their heads and Estella added, "No, you go on. We're fine."

"You do _not_ get out of bed without someone here to help you, you understand me?" he commanded in a no-nonsense tone.

"I won't . . . I promise." Race nodded, kissed the top of her head, and then rose and strode out of the room quickly.

Estella sighed. "Poor Race. Everything's really dumping on him right now."

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "More than usual?"

The lovely redhead eased herself down until she was lying prone in the bed again and then replied regretfully, "Yes. You know, Barbara, it's funny how you really take things for granted sometimes. Like the business with the kids. We knew they would all be gone this fall. I'll grant you that we didn't anticipate the circumstances, but the fact that all of them would be out of the house by the end of August was no surprise. And yet, I don't think any of us really realized how much Jonny, Jessie and Hadji did around here until they were gone. Even after Hadji left in January, we didn't see it . . . Jonny and Jessie just picked up the slack and nothing much seemed to change. But then May came and those two left, and all of a sudden we discovered just how much of the day-to-day stuff those three really did. I was able to pick up some of it . . . at least until this happened . . . and Benton started doing some of it, but the majority of those tasks just naturally fell to Race. And then I developed this problem and couldn't help, and Benton's health began to deteriorate, and the relationship between Jonny and Benton continues to be rocky . . . and poor Race is stuck trying to cope with it all."

"He never complains," Barbara observed.

"No, never. And if you say something to him, he just laughs and makes some flippant comment about having been through worse." Estella looked up at Barbara. "I worry about him."

Barbara smiled. "Of course you do. It's your job. But my experience says that Race is pretty tough. He'll weather this."

Estella looked at the other woman thoughtfully. "How bad was the fight today?"

"I beg your pardon?" Barbara said, startled.

"There was a fight today. I can tell it. He's strung tighter than piano wire. That always means that someone's gotten into it again . . . usually Benton and Jonny. How bad?"

Barbara sank slowly to the bed. After a moment, she shook her head. "Bad," she admitted. "And it's more than Jonny this time. Evidently Benton and Jonny got into it this morning and whatever he said has finally set Jessie off. She called a little while ago while Race and I were in the lab and she just raked Benton over the coals. I've never seen her so angry."

Estella stared at Barbara in obvious concern. "We can't have Jessie taking sides in this," she exclaimed. "If she turns against Benton . . ."

"It may already be too late . . ."

"Tell me what she said." Reluctantly, Barbara summarized the confrontation. When she was finished, Estella just shook her head. "Oh, God. Barbara, what is Benton doing? It's almost as though he's deliberately burning his bridges."

"I know. I just don't understand it."

"And what's so weird about it is that one minute he will be in a towering rage at Jonny . . . being totally unreasonable and obstinate . . . and the next it's as though he hears himself and it dawns on him that he is being unreasonable, and then he's sorry. I've even seen him try to call Jonny back and apologize. And for a while, things will seem to improve. It just never seems to last."

"I know," Barbara agreed. "I'll tell you, of all the families I've ever known, this is the last one I _ever_ expected to develop a generation gap."

"Tell me about it. I just wish . . ."

"ALARM! SENSOR'S INDICATED A FLUCUATION IN THE BIOLOGICAL READINGS OF DR. BENTON QUEST. BLOOD PRESSURE DROPPING, IRREGULAR HEARTBEAT, SHALLOW RESPIRATION . . ."

But Barbara didn't hear the rest. She was already out of the door and headed for the lighthouse at a run.


	22. Chapter 22

**

Chapter Twenty-two

**

  


Jessie knew the instant she disconnected the call to Quest Compound that she needed to get out of the apartment. Her fury was so deep that if she didn't direct some of that energy into a constructive purpose, she was bound to vent it in some fashion guaranteed to wake the others and trigger awkward questions. She turned off her computer system and made sure Jonny's was powered down, as well. Then she went through the apartment and unplugged all the phones except the one attached to the answering machine. On that, she stilled the bell and set it to send all calls directly to the machine. Then she changed the tape, pocketing the used one grimly, and headed into her bedroom. Jonny was still sleeping deeply and didn't stir. Moving quietly, she retrieved an envelope from the back of the closet. Inside were two sets of identification papers, one for her and one for Jonny. Each set included a driver's license, social security card, passport, and credit cards. There was also a bankbook. Taking her set and the bankbook, she swapped out the identification in her purse, returned the envelope with Jonny's I.D. to its hiding place, grabbed a large canvas tote bag, and took off, leaving a note that she was running errands, in case anyone woke up and found her gone.

Telling herself that she needed to concentrate on getting the things for Jonny and Hadji, she forced her mind to focus on the job in front of her. A quick walk brought her to a subway entrance, where she descended, and hopped the first train. Her first stop was at a bank in a quiet, residential district about five miles from home. There, she withdrew funds from the emergency account using the bankbook and identification she had brought with her. She also gained access to a safety deposit box . . . one Jonny knew nothing about . . . where she retrieved a plastic storage container which she stuffed into the tote bag. Then she left the bank. She walked six blocks, re-entered the subway at a different location from where she entered, and grabbed the first train that crossed town. The entire time she moved around, Jessie kept a wary eye on the people around her. She had no reason to suppose she was being followed, but she dared take no chances.

Picking a stop at random, she exited the train about 15 minutes later. She checked the posted schedule carefully. She had twenty minutes before the train she wanted arrived at this stop. Glancing around to be sure the pedestrian traffic had cleared and that there was no one around, and she ducked into the transit system restroom and locked herself into the disabled-accessible stall at the far end of the room. Setting the box on the sink in the stall, she opened it and began sorting through the contents. Now it was time for Jessie Bannon to disappear. Using the items in the storage box, she worked quickly, applying make-up and changing her clothing. Ten minutes later, she looked over the woman facing her in the mirror with a critical eye. Finally, she nodded. It would do for now.

Reaching into the storage box once again, she drew out a pouch, opened it, and pulled out another complete set of identification, as well as a checkbook and bankcard. Checking them carefully to be certain they all matched, she changed out the items in her wallet for a second time, being certain to take out all of the pictures of her family and Jonny, and put everything she had removed into the box. Then she dumped her purse and sorted though the contents carefully, ensuring that there was nothing in it that in any way pointed to an identity other than the person she now was. Closing the box and putting it back into the tote bag once more, she opened the stall door carefully and looked around. It was still quiet. She slipped out quickly and merged with the gathering crowd on the platform. When the train arrived, she boarded it and finished her trip across town. She reemerged at street level into Downtown Crossing. She crossed the street quickly and headed directly for Saks Fifth Avenue. It took her about an hour to find everything she wanted and then she went back to the subway. After two train changes she ended up at Logan Airport. Choosing a relatively quiet concourse, she slipped into a bathroom once more and went to one of the far stalls. Here she completed her transformation.

Race Bannon wouldn't have known the woman who exited the airport bathroom some 15 minutes later. This person was older . . . perhaps 30 or 35 years of age. She was tall and had carefully groomed, straight, jaw-length chestnut brown hair that framed a narrow face. Her eyes were large and greenish brown in color and her lips were full and carefully accented in a warm shade of copper. She wore an elegant, russet-colored silk dress; brown, imported leather pumps; and carried matching handbag slung casually from one shoulder. Expensive, understated gold jewelry graced her neck, wrist, and earlobes; and she carried a camel wool jacket folded carefully over one arm. On her left ring finger she wore a diamond solitaire with an intricately interwoven wedding band. Picking an airport locker at random, she shoved the canvas bag into it and carefully pocketed the key. One more stop and she should be ready to go. She walked out into the main terminal of the airport and gazed around. Spotting what she wanted, she made her way up to the main desk of Allstar Exotics. Smiling pleasantly at the young man behind the counter, she said,

"Good afternoon. I need to rent a car. I'm afraid I don't have a reservation . . ."

Taking in her expensive clothes and carefully polished manners, the young man replied, "Oh, I'm sure that won't be a problem, madam. What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied with an airy laugh. "Something a bit sporty, I think. This was a spur of the moment trip, so why not just be impulsive."

The man consulted his computer and then replied, "Well, we have a rather nice silver Mercedes 300 E available. Also a forest green Jaguar S-Type Sports Sedan or a red Corvette C5 Convertible."

Jessie contemplated her choices for a minute and then replied, "The Jaguar Sports Sedan, I think."

"And how long will you be needing it?"

"For the weekend, if it's available. I'll be leaving on Sunday."

"That won't be a problem. If you'd just fill this out for me, and I'll need a valid driver's license and a credit card." Handing him the requested documents, Jessie completed the card quickly. He scanned the information, nodded, handed her documents back, and said, "That should do it, Mrs. Leveck. If you'd care to wait out at the curb, I'll have someone bring the car around to you. You have a pleasant stay in our city."

"Thank you very much. I'm sure I will."

A short time later, Jessie carefully merged onto the freeway and turned south, heading into the outskirts of the city. Glancing at the clock, she frowned. It was nearing 2:30 and she still had a lot to do. 

The drive gave her time to start thinking again and it didn't take her long to discover that she was still deeply angry. No matter how she tried to tell herself that Jonny was an adult and she should let him fight his own battles, the more she remembered Benton Quest's sharp, sarcastic tone and the shaken, pained fury in his son's voice. Jonny was feeling overwhelmed enough right now. He didn't need his father damaging his faith in himself at the same time. Jessie was still brooding when she reached her destination and as she climbed out of the car, she slammed the door with more force than she intended, causing several of the passersby to look at her with misgiving. She locked the car carefully as she struggled to dampen the anger that still seethed inside her.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned and inspected the building in front of her. She stood on the sidewalk in front of a very trendy art gallery on the far north side of the city. A sign above the door read **Eclectica** and in the window was a very modern sculpture made of some sort of molded paper or fiber in a particularly nasty shade of mustard yellow. Jessie eyed it with distaste and wondered who in their right mind would ever buy it. _Each to their own,_ she thought with a shrug as she opened the door and entered the establishment.

Obviously, the gallery wasn't busy at this hour of the afternoon. There was no one at the front reception desk and after waiting for a few minutes, Jessie picked up the pen by the guest register and carefully signed in . . . Monica Leveck, Palm Harbor, Florida. Setting the pen down once more, she turned and moved casually into the bowels of the gallery. One or two people strode idly among the displays, but all of them were obviously visitors. There was no sign of any staff. She curbed her impatience by carefully reviewing everything her father had ever told her about working undercover. _Play your role,_ she chanted silently. _Be the person you say you are. Mistakes can be deadly._

"Madame Leveck, how delightful to see you again!"

Jessie turned and smiled easily at the elegantly clad, middle-aged man approaching her. Holding out her hand, she replied, "Jean-Paul. It has been way too long. How have you been?"

"Very well, thank you. And you and your husband?"

"We are both doing well, thank you."

"I'm thrilled to hear it. You are certainly looking as lovely as ever," he replied gallantly. Taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm, he turned her toward one of the large galleries, and the two of them moved at an idle pace as they talked. Finally, he said to her, "But here I am, taking up your time with my idle chatter. How can I help you today?"

Turning to him, she said, "I'm looking for something very special, Jean-Paul, and I just knew you were the man to come to. Father always said that when it came to needing that perfect something for a special occasion, I should come racing to you."

For a split second she saw his face go still. Then he bowed slightly. "Your father was always a discerning man. Is this for an occasion in the future or do you need it right away?"

Jessie sighed. "Unfortunately, it turns out it is for a very unexpected occasion and I have very little time. It's why I thought of you immediately."

"Of course. Why don't you come back to my office? I have a number of items that may suit you." Waving her toward the back, he called out, "Timothy, I am going to show Madame Leveck the new sculpture in the back. Please keep an eye out here for me, if you would." Jessie saw the other man nod, and then the two of them moved toward a door in the back wall. He opened it and waved her through into an airy, thoroughly modern office. Closing the door behind him, he said, "This way." His voice had changed. Where before it held a light, laughter-filled tone, now it was cold, hard, and all business. Without a word, she followed him. He crossed to a shelf unit on the far end of the room. Doing something she couldn't see, he then grabbed the shelf unit and pulled. An entire section swung away from the wall, revealing a door. Swiftly, he unlocked and opened it, then waved her toward the interior. "Watch the stairs," he warned her and she approached it with misgiving. With a wary look at the man, she stepped through the doorway and descended the stairs into a large, below-ground workshop.

She looked around swiftly, taking in her surroundings at a glance. Everything was neat and orderly. On a counter along one wall, she saw the pieces of a rifle that was obviously in the process of being modified. A grinding apparatus with a long, wicked corkscrew-style drill bit stood nearby, and there were metal shavings lying on the floor at its base. She turned back to her escort who had followed her down the stairs, closing the hidden door behind them. "Increasing the bore of a rifle?" she commented. "Dangerous business, that. Gun could explode in your face, if you aren't careful."

"On the other hand, perhaps that's the point," the man replied evenly. He stood, staring at her intensely for a long time. Finally, he said softly, "Nice job. I'm good with faces . . . even ones I haven't seen in a long time . . . and I never would have recognized you as Race Bannon's daughter."

"He's a good teacher," she replied in the same tone.

The man crossed the room and sank down onto a stool, his eyes never leaving her. "So what brings Race Bannon's daughter to my doorstep?"

Facing him squarely, she replied, "My father tells me that I can trust you. Can I?"

The man nodded. "The debt I owe your father can never be paid off. Helping his daughter is the least I can do."

Mimicking his nod, she said, "I need weapons."

"What kind of weapons?"

"The kind that are untraceable, hard to spot, and can save someone in a tight situation."

"You?"

"Not immediately, but it may come to that."

"The people that will be using them . . . what are they familiar with?"

"Both of them despise the need to use any type of weapon at all, although they both know how. They can use guns, both conventional and laser varieties . . . handguns and full-sized. One's a better shot than the other, but both can hit what they're aiming at. And both are reasonably good with knives."

"Garrotes, poisons, anything like that?"

She shook her head sharply. "No point. Neither one of them would ever use them."

"Moral," the man said with a hint of disgust.

"Scrupulously so," she replied in a tone that told him she hadn't missed his opinion, and that the respect she held for him had diminished as a result.

"Explosives?"

"Might be useful," she acknowledged grudgingly.

"What kind of situation are we talking about?"

She thought about that one for a while. "Unstable government with assassination attempts likely.

"Backup?"

"No." Then she paused and modified that a bit. "Little to none."

The man leaned back against the bench with the rifle and said in disbelief, "And Race is going to let you walk into a powder keg like that? This is no agency op . . ."

Jessie just stared at him without answering, privately interested to discover that he thought she worked for I-1. Finally, he sighed and said, "All right. I take it that's the armament for the two that don't like weapons. As I recall, you don't have that compunction."

"No."

"So what about you?"

Again, Jessie gave it some thought. Maybe she wouldn't need them . . . but then again . . . "Same sort of stuff . . . anything easy to conceal. Enough for myself and one other person. Also, a couple of handguns . . . 9 mm . . . at least one of them an HK USP 9 mm semi automatic . . ."

The man raised his eyebrows. "That's quite a gun for a woman. Not for you, surely. I'd have thought you'd be more likely to use a Glock."

Jessie nodded. "I'd prefer a Glock if you can get it."

"I can get it. You still want the HK?" When he saw her nod, he just shrugged. "Okay. What else?"

"Sniper rifle, high-powered, with a good distance scope. Wouldn't hurt to have a night scope for it, too. Also two Uzis - or something similar - capable of full auto, a good quantity of plastique with detonators, about two dozen grenades, and the same number of anti-personnel mines. Oh, and a generous amount of ammo for all of the weapons."

"You planning to start a war?" he demanded.

Jessie's smile was cold. "No, but if the people in question don't settle this dispute on their own, I'll certainly do my best to end it for them. How soon can you have it?"

The man glanced at the clock. "I can have the small stuff and the handguns together by early this evening. The bigger items will take a day or two."

Jessie nodded. "That will work. When and where?"

"You have a safe number where I can reach you?" She nodded and rattled off one. "Fine. When it's ready, I'll call you and we'll set up a meet." As she started to turn away, he held up a hand. "One thing. You bring the people these weapons are for with you." When she started to protest, he shook his head sharply. "The sheathes for the throwing knives and the smaller weapons need to be fitted, and I'm guessing we aren't talking pros here. And before I go handing any of this stuff to you, I'm going to be damned sure you can handle it. I trust Race, but I owe him enough to be careful. And if there's one thing I know for certain, it's that he has no knowledge about whatever it is you're into."

"And you aren't going to tell him, either," she said flatly in a tone that sent cold fingers down his spine. He'd heard that tone before. No question about it now . . . this was Race Bannon's daughter.

"What you do or don't tell your father is none of my business. But it is my business to be sure you know how to use any hardware I provide."

"Fair enough. What about payment?"

The man eyed her thoughtfully. "You can pay for all of this stuff?"

"Yes."

He grinned at her. "Then I'm not going to ask you to. It's enough that you come to me prepared to pay."

"But . . ."

He shook his head sharply. "The next time you come to me it may be different, but for now we'll call it payback on a very old debt."

Finally, she nodded. "All right."

Nodding in return, he gestured toward the stairs again and the two of them ascended to his office once more. As they were getting ready to leave, he paused. Then with a grin, he said, "Hold on just a minute." Going through another door, he reappeared a few minutes later with a medium-sized box carefully wrapped in gleaming blue paper. "Here, take this. And one of these days, when times are better, give it to your father and see if it brings to mind any stories." Then, opening the door into the gallery once more, he gestured her through and the two of them returned to the front of the store. When they reached it, she turned and smiled, holding out her hand.

"Thank you again, Jean-Paul. As always, you know just the perfect thing."

"For you, Madame Leveck, any time," he replied and kissed the hand she held out to him. "_À bientôt._"

"_À bientôt_, Jean-Paul."

  


To Be Continued . . .


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-three**

  


"What happened?" Race demanded, erupting into Benton Quest's bedroom.

"He passed out," Barbara replied grimly.

"I did not," Benton protested. "I just got a little lightheaded and decided it might be better if I laid down for a bit."

"I found him lying in one of those reclining chairs in the center of the main lab," Barbara told Race, taking the stethoscope out of her ears and setting it on the bed beside her. Laying her palm on his cheek and putting her thumb under his chin, she turned his head toward her and flicked a light across his eyes, watching his pupil dilation response. "He was only about half conscious. His blood pressure had dropped like a stone and he was experiencing arrhythmia and shortness of breath."

"Those are heart attack symptoms!" Race exclaimed.

"They certainly are," Barbara agreed grimly.

"I was not having a heart attack!" Benton disagreed sharply. "Dammit, Barbara, you've told me what to watch for often enough since this all started and I know. There was no pain, no numbness in my arms, neck, or face, and I don't care what IRIS said, I wasn't feeling short of breath. I was just dizzy."

"Benton, this is not the time to . . ."

"Look," he said, pulling himself into a sitting position despite her frantic attempts to keep him prone, "I'm prepared to admit that I've got a problem, all right? But I really do think you're being alarmist about this. Yes, I got dizzy and had to sit down. But I was already better by the time you got there and now I feel fine. I can't explain it, but it's the truth."

"The fact that you feel fine now really isn't the point, Benton," Estella protested from her position in a nearby chair. "We need to get you to a place where they can monitor you more closely and figure out what the problem is."

He looked over at her in amusement. "You are a fine one to be lecturing me about doing things I shouldn't. What are you doing out of bed?"

Race cut both of them off. "Okay, enough is enough. Barbara, what do we do now?"

"We need to get him into the hospital where we can do a proper job of keeping an eye on him and start seriously searching for reasons for this. We've . . ."

"No," Benton said flatly. Race turned an angry glare on Benton, but before he could say anything, Benton continued. "I know what caused this, and it's not anything that a doctor is going to find during a series of tests."

Barbara stared hard at him for a long moment and then her shoulders sagged and she sighed. "I wish you would stop this. Can't you just let it go?"

Benton uttered a matching sigh, leaning wearily back against the headboard of the bed. "I wish I could. I have tried . . . really I have."

Race and Estella looked from one to the other in confusion. Race opened his mouth to ask a question, but Benton's next comment took away the need for it.

"Barbara, I'm worried sick about him. And he's just shutting me out."

"Do you really blame him, Benton?" she asked gently. "What did you say to him this time? It must have been something pretty harsh, because whatever it was set Jessie off. You know that she's been extremely supportive of you during this entire business. You told him he only had that job because he was your son, didn't you?" 

Benton hung his head. "I didn't mean to. It just came out. I was angry," he said in a low voice. "I was trying to compromise, but he wouldn't listen again. I'd offered to pay his rent and get the admission ban at M.I.T. withdrawn . . . "

"In return for what?"

"I just asked him to cut back to part time at his job. I didn't ask him to quit. In fact, I told him that I _knew_ he was capable of handling both things. And I didn't say a single word about his living arrangements." Benton shook his head. "I was upset . . . thinking about my argument with Jonny . . . and thinking about what Jessie said . . . " Benton looked up at Barbara desperately. "She could do it, Barbara! She could estrange us to the point where he'd never talk to me again. What am I going to do? I tried to call him back. I would have even talked to Jessie! But the phone didn't even ring. It just went straight to voice mail. And their computers are shut down, too. I can't reach him . . ."

The panicky note in his voice brought Race to the bedside quickly. Helping Barbara, they forced him to lie down again. "Just take it easy, Benton. There's a very simple explanation why you can't reach them. It's a weekday. Jess probably called right before she headed out for class, and Jonny's at work. They just aren't home. We'll try later this evening, all right? Right now, I want you to rest for a while. Sleep might be a good thing."

"Yes," Barbara agreed immediately. "That's an excellent idea."

"I'm not going to the hospital," he said with a trace of the old belligerence.

Barbara looked unhappy, but after a moment she replied, "Okay, let's compromise then. You're scheduled to go into Portland Medical Center next week for tests. I won't push you to go now, if you'll agree to stay there until I'm satisfied next week. Deal?"

After a moment, Benton nodded. "All right. I can accept that."

"Good. In the meantime, I want you to cut back on your work schedule a bit and I also want you to try to avoid stress. Let me talk to Jessie and Jonny this evening and I'll set up a time for them to come home and visit, and the four of us will sit down and talk after the tests in Portland are all finished. Can you live with that?"

"But what if Jessie . . ."

"Jess is not going to do anything to damage your relationship with Jonny," Race said firmly.

"Particularly if you don't talk with him between now and the time we all sit down together again," Barbara added. "Benton, she doesn't want to take Jonny away from you. You know that. But she's as defensive of him as he is of her. What you said obviously hurt him deeply and she reacted to that." She looked at him sympathetically. "I know it's hard, but aren't you pleased that she loves him enough to come to his defense that way?"

Benton was quiet for a long time. Finally, in a low voice, he replied, "She's so _much_ like Rachel. Sometimes it terrifies me."

"Why?"

"Because I remember what it was like . . . losing her. I don't want that to happen to Jonny . . ."

She smiled at him sadly. "I know. But you can only protect your children just so far. And he does love her, Benton, and she loves him. Try to take comfort in that."

"Yes, I know."

"I want you to rest now while Race and I put Estella back to bed."

"All right." The look he gave her had a bit more spirit in it. "I suppose you're going to set IRIS to babysit again, too."

"You better believe it. And I'm going to expect her to let me know if you so much as stir out of that bed." Barbara glanced ceilingward. "You understand me, IRIS?"

"ACKNOWLEDGED. CONTINUE TO MONITOR VITAL SIGNS OF DR. BENTON QUEST AND NOTIFY DR. BARBARA MASON AND RACE BANNON OF ANY CHANGES OR ANY MOVEMENTS OF DR. BENTON QUEST FROM HIS CURRENT LOCATION."

"Very good."

"And don't even try to countermand the instructions, you hear me?" Race demanded of Benton.

"Yes, yes. I've got it. I'll behave."

Barbara rose from the bed as Race went to help Estella up out of the chair. With a parting comment of, "Just let IRIS know if you need anything," the three of them left the room, closing the door behind them. No one said anything until they had Estella settled comfortably back in bed again. Then Race said,

"I know you've probably got patients waiting, Barbara, but do you have a few more minutes?"

She looked at him speculatively for a minute and then sank down in a nearby chair. "I thought you had something on your mind. What is it?"

"Does it strike you that Benton's moods seem to be a little . . . " He trailed off, as if unable to find the right word.

"Volatile?" Barbara suggested.

Slowly, Race nodded. "That's as good as any, I guess."

"Yes, it does. And the differences are seriously marked. Like in the lighthouse today. I've never seen that side of Benton before."

"Neither have I, and I've know the man for fifteen years or more . . . lived with him almost 24 hours a day for more than ten. He's _never_ acted this way before. In fact, some of the things I've heard him say and do over the last several months are things I never would have believed him capable of. Like the business with Jonny and M.I.T., or his comment about Jessie and Jonny after Jess broke the connection today. I don't care how angry he is, it's not in Benton Quest's nature to say that he's washing his hands of them."

"Or to tell Jonny that anything he's gotten is because he's his father's son," Estella added. "He's always been incredibly supportive of all of the kids, encouraging them to stretch their horizons and hone their skills."

"Exactly," Race agreed immediately. "There's a lot more going on here than Benton having a health problem, I think. I just can't figure out what."

Barbara contemplated that thoughtfully. "Stress seems to set it off and that triggers the physical problems. Is that it?"

"Well, isn't that the way it seems to work?"

"It does, actually," she replied slowly.

Race rose and paced the room in frustration. "The thing about it is, even if that's true, I don't see where it gets us."

"Maybe further than you'd think," Barbara replied. "I've been using the symptoms to try to find out the cause of the physical problems. But if you're right . . . if there's something else at work here, then the symptoms and their source may be secondary and could be misleading us."

"I don't follow," Race replied.

"Well, going backward, the physical symptoms may be showing up because of the endorphins and other chemicals that are released into the bloodstream as the result of stress, much like the mechanism that causes an individual to develop an ulcer from stress. And we've assumed that the stress is coming as a result of his problems with Jonny."

"Yes. So?"

"Well, Jess made an interesting comment to me back in May. She said that Benton's stress levels _predated_ his problems with Jonny by several months. And when I questioned both Jonny and Hadji about it, they both agreed."

Race frowned. "Yeah, we've talked about that before. But what's the point?"

"The point is that all of this can generate stress, but stress in itself generally doesn't change a person's innate personality. It can make them short tempered, irritable, or depressed, but it's not going to change who they are. So what if the _stress_ is also a symptom . . . that something is setting him up to be susceptible to the type of stress levels he's been experiencing." She sighed at her companions' twin expressions of confusion. "Look, most people as they grow up develop coping skills . . . ways of dealing with stress and strain. Some people exercise, some are creative, some take long, hot baths . . . you get the idea. Benton has always lived what most people would define as a stressful life, but he's always had outstanding coping skills, too."

"Work was the way he coped," Race said immediately.

"I'll take your word for it. But something seems to be breaking down his coping skills and allowing the stress to get to him. And whatever it is also seems to be changing his basic personality. So maybe we're looking in the wrong place for the source of the problem."

"Does this tell us where to look instead?" Race asked her.

Barbara sighed deeply and after a moment, she stood. "Unfortunately, no," she replied heavily. "But I'm going to keep working on it. Listen, I've got to go. You're right. I've got patients waiting and I'm already late. Keep an eye on him and call if you need me. I'll come out again later this evening and we'll try giving Jessie a call and see if we can diffuse this latest crisis."


	24. Chapter 24

**

Chapter Twenty-four

**  


By the time Jessie had shed her disguise, finished the rest of her errands, and reached the apartment once more, it was nearing 5:00 p.m. She fervently hoped that the others were still asleep, but she was afraid it was probably more than she could hope for. As it turned out, she was right.

"There you are!" a voice from above exclaimed as she labored up the second floor staircase with her arms loaded with packages. Looking up, she spotted Kefira on her way down, laundry basket in hand.

"Hey, you're up!" Jessie replied, stopping mid-flight to speak to the other girl.

"Yes, we have been up for about half an hour. Jonny was quite upset to find you gone."

Jessie sighed in exasperation. "He knew I planned to go out and run errands. I even left him a note."

"Yes, but it appeared that you left in some haste. We were all concerned that something had happened." When Jessie hesitated, Kefira jumped on it and demanded, "What? What is wrong? Have there been signs of our enemies?"

"No! No, nothing like that," Jessie hastily assured her. "It was nothing . . ."

"You are not fooling me, Jessica Bannon! Something sent you running out of here, leaving everything you were working on in mid-task. What has happened?"

Jessie looked at her companion solemnly. "Now I'm the one that needs advice, Kefira. Will you help me?"

"Of course! If I can. Tell me what is wrong."

"I got into it with Dr. Quest today while you guys were asleep."

Kefira stared at her for a moment before replying carefully, "What happened?"

Jessie looked around and then said quietly, "Not here. Come on, I'll follow you down to the laundry room and we'll talk there."

The two of them descended to the basement where Jessie set her parcels aside and helped Kefira start the laundry. Once that was finished, the Indian girl turned to her friend and said, "Now, tell me what has happened."

Jessie described the messages she found on the answering machine and the subsequent confrontation with Jonny's father. She concluded by saying, "You know, it wasn't even so much what he said as the tone of his voice, I think. It was so nasty and condescending. I got so furious . . ."

"How did he take it when you told him he was never to do it again?" Kefira questioned.

"He was angry. Told me I was part of the problem because I was supporting Jonny. And he used the same tone with me that he used with Jonny. Beyond that, I didn't really give him much of a chance to say anything."

"Was he alone?"

Jessie shook her head. "No. Dad and Dr. Mason were with him at the time."

Kefira sighed in relief. "That is good."

"I probably shouldn't have said some of the things I did, Kefira, but I couldn't let him do that to Jonny! He doesn't deserve it and furthermore, it's the last thing he needs right now."

Kefira cocked her head and gazed at her friend thoughtfully. "Why now, in particular, Jessie? Is there another problem?"

Jessie opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again, suddenly realizing that she'd said more than she intended. "Look, it's getting late. We probably better . . ."

Kefira's hand flashed out and caught Jessie by the arm. Staring the other girl straight in the eyes, she said, "You have named us sisters. I agree. Sisters tell each about all of their problems. Do not shut me out, Jessie. I want to help. What is wrong? Is he unhappy here? Or having trouble at work?"

"No, nothing like that!" Jessie exclaimed. "He loves his job. I've never seen him so alive. They honestly need him and the things he does make a real contribution. That means a lot to him. It's just that . . ." she sighed in frustration, trying to figure out how to explain it. "I guess it's just that he's got so much to prove . . . to himself, I mean. Lately, it's been occurring to me that it can't have been easy growing up as the only natural-born son of Benton Quest. Did you know that Jonny hates research? I don't know if it's because subconsciously he wants to be different from his dad or if he just doesn't like the process, but whichever it is, he really does hate it. And now he's out on his own and I think he's trying to prove to himself that he can achieve something in his own right, and that he doesn't need to rely on his father."

"And he is pushing too hard." It was a statement, not a question.

Jessie nodded. "Yeah . . . yeah he is. I've tried everything I can think of to ease things, but you know how much of a one-track mind he's got. I finally talked to his boss about it and they're going to help me try to moderate him a little." She looked at the other girl seriously. "They care about him, Kefira. I really believe that. They don't want to see him burn out. But when Dr. Quest hit him this morning, he'd been working too hard and hadn't had more than about 10 hours of sleep _total_ since last Sunday. Stan had told me to let him sleep so he could catch up on some rest, but then Dr. Quest called and blindsided him with all that bullshit about not being capable of getting this job on his own and . . . "

"Oh, no!"

"He _did_!" Jessie replied, anger flaring brightly once more. "And I just couldn't take it any more . . ."

Kefira laid a pacifying hand on the other girl's arm and assured her, "I do not blame you. I would not have been able to tolerate it either."

"When I got off the phone, I just had to get out for a while. I was so angry that I knew that if I didn't, I'd do something that would wake all of you. So I went to run errands. They ended up taking me longer than I intended, which is why I was late."

"Weren't you afraid that Dr. Quest might try to call back?"

Jessie grimaced. "Oh, you obviously haven't found that yet. I shut down all the phones and the computers. The only thing anyone could get was the answering machine. I didn't want you guys disturbed."

"Well, I think we had better get upstairs. Jonny was truly beginning to worry. He will be glad to see you."

"Not a word about this, okay Kefira? I know they're headed into the lion's den, but in a way I'm glad to have him away from here. It will give him a break from the job and get him out of reach of Dr. Quest for a while. I don't think that's a bad thing right now."

"No, I believe you are correct. Come on, let us go upstairs."

Splitting the load of packages between them, they climbed the stairs again and returned to the apartment. Jonny and Hadji both leaped to their feet as the two of them spotted Jessie.

"Jess!" Jonny exclaimed and grabbed her, sending bags and parcels cascading to the floor. He held her tightly and ran his hands over her in agitation. "Are you okay? Where have you been? You aren't hurt, are you?"

She relaxed against him willingly, savoring the feel of his hands and his obvious concern. _God, I love him,_ she thought to herself. Reaching up, she caressed his cheek gently, running her thumb lightly over his lips.

"I'm fine! I promise. My errands just took longer than I expected."

"But you left everything in such a mess!"

She laughed easily. "I was right in the middle of sorting laundry when I suddenly realized how much I had to do and that if I didn't get started some of the places I wanted to go might close before I got there. So I just dropped everything and took off. I'm sorry if I worried you."

"As long as you're okay . . ." he murmured, and leaned down to kiss her.

After a long moment, Hadji cleared his throat loudly. When the two of them looked up, he said, "Your room is down the hall, I believe . . . "

Jessie laughed, flushing slightly, as Jonny looked his brother straight in the eyes and said, "Hey, this is _my_ home. I'll fool around in any room I choose. Furthermore, _YOU_ are a fine one to talk. The walls in this apartment _are_ rather thin, you know . . ." Hadji and Kefira both turned a lovely shade of maroon, and Kefira turned and hid her face against his chest. Jonny grinned and rubbed it in just a bit further. "It sure sounded as though you were having an awfully good time in there. . ."

"Stop!" Hadji begged his brother, reddening even more. Jonny laughed and clapped his brother on the back. "You know, it's fun having the shoe on the other foot. After all the abuse Jess and I had to put up with . . ."

Jessie rolled her eyes. "Leave me out of this, will ya?"

Kefira grinned mischievously. "From what I heard, I do not believe we were the only ones giving the neighbors something to talk about this morning!"

Jessie just shook her head as Jonny feigned a hurt look. "_Et tu_, Kefira?"

Then he smiled warmly at his brother. "Hey, I just want you to know how happy I am for the both of you." His grin faded into a look of concern. "This _does_ mean that you aren't going to do something incredibly stupid like renounce the marriage, right?"

Hadji looked resigned. "I could not do so now, even if I wished to . . ." He smiled tenderly at Kefira. ". . . which I assure you, I do not."

"Good! 'Cause I was not _**about**_ to let you blow this!" Turning to Kefira, he held out his arms. "C'mere." He swept her up in a firm, brotherly embrace. "I've always wanted a sister, and I couldn't have asked for a better one. My brother and I are very lucky men."

Kefira returned his hug enthusiastically. "I am the lucky one. I could not have chosen a better family," she replied, casting a look at Jessie, who just nodded knowingly and smiled.

As Jonny released her, Hadji reached out and caught her hand, drawing her back to his side. "Now that Jessie has returned, I wonder if the two of you would do something for us?" Hadji asked seriously.

"Sure," Jonny replied as Jessie said, "Of course."

Hadji looked down at Kefira tenderly. "When we got married there were certain rituals that we chose not perform at the time. They have special significance because family members and close friends normally witness them and you were not able to be there. Because of the nature of things, they will not exactly be traditional, but if the two of you are willing, we would like to exchange our vows now."

Jonny and Jessie exchanged a look and then Jonny said quietly, "We'd be honored. What do you want us to do?"

Hadji handed him a piece of paper. "Stand with us and serve as witnesses until I signal you. When I do, read what is on this paper." Turning, Hadji walked over to the love seat and picked up the box that Jessie had noticed earlier that afternoon. Returning to Kefira, he drew her over to stand next to one of the end tables. Setting the box on the table, he turned to face her. Jonny had never seen his brother look the way he did in that instant. Hadji's face was alight with such love and tenderness that it caused Jonny's throat to constrict . . . particularly when he saw the same look mirrored in Kefira's face. As Jonny and Jessie watched, Hadji reached out and touched Kefira lightly first on the forehead, then on this lips, and finally over her heart, saying in Hindi,

"My lady, by my will, I have chosen you for my wife. As we have been taught, through marriage, a man and woman each fulfill their dharma, becoming physically, emotionally and spiritually complete. To you, I pledge my strength, love and understanding."

Kefira's eyes were locked on his unflinchingly, as she repeated his gestures with feather-light fingers and replied in the same language,

"Beloved, in gladness do I accept those things you so offer. In return, I pledge my tenderness, companionship and encouragement, and vow that if the Gods so honor, I will love and care for all children born of our union to the perpetuation of the human race."

Time and place seemed to recede as the two of them gazed at each other, reciting vows almost as old as the culture that spawned them.

"Marriage is a three-fold state," Hadji continued, his eyes never leaving her. "It is a sacrament, a contract and an institution. As a sacrament, it is a spiritual union in which man and woman utter certain vows to one another and thus bind themselves together for life and for their soul's mutual benefit."

The two watchers saw a soft smile flicker across Kefira's lips as she picked up the thread of the vow.

"As a contract, it is a personal agreement to live together as husband and wife, he to provide shelter, protection, sustenance, and she to care for the home and bear and nurture their children," she replied with the equal intensity.

"As an institution, marriage is the lawful custom in society, bringing stability to the family and the social order," he replied once more, completing the ritual covenant.

In a quiet, charged voice, Kefira replied for a final time, "Marriage is a _jîvayajna_, a sacrifice of each small self to the greater good of the family and society."

Turning, Hadji reached down and opened the box sitting beside them on the end table. Reaching in, he withdrew a necklace and held it up between the two of them. In the diffuse light of early evening, the faceting of the ruby that hung suspended from the heavy, twisted gold chain caused it to gleam warmly. In the charged silence, both Jonny and Jessie heard Kefira gasp as she stared at the glittering gem.

"From the Heart of Bangalore, heirloom of my family and most revered from time untold, do I claim you," he declared in a tone that his family members had never heard from him before. For the first time, they gazed at their brother and friend and truly saw the evidence of his royal lineage. It was almost as though he was suddenly filled with the spirits of those who had reigned before, giving him power and presence beyond mortal man. Jonny and Jessie exchanged an awed look. _The Heart of Bangalore_ . . . That was the name of the gem that was the mark of his family . . . the symbol of his royalty . . . the one his mother had given him when he ascended to the throne. After a moment, Jessie frowned slightly. She remembered it being larger . . .

With a hand that trembled slightly, Kefira reached into the box and held up another object. Once again, the light in the room caused the second stone, imprisoned in gold and mounted on a flat, gold band, to glow warmly. Clearing her throat with difficulty, she replied,

"From the Heart of Bangalore, heirloom of the House of Singh and most revered from time untold, I acknowledge and accept your claim."

Suddenly, as the sun dropped toward the horizon, a shaft of pure golden sunlight lanced through the western windows. It caught the two stones squarely, and in an instant, they erupted into fiery brilliance, enveloping the young couple in their radiance. Jonny and Jessie fell back a step, gasping involuntarily, at the dazzling vision. Not one stone now . . . but two . . . still bound together as if they were a single living thing . . . and in their living fire, binding the two that held them together for all eternity. Later, Jessie would swear that she had heard the ghostly murmurs of approval from Hadji's ancestors in that radiant light.

The blazing fire receded to a warm glow once more as Hadji leaned forward and fastened the pendant around Kefira's neck, saying, "I am he."

Kefira reached up and seated the gold band around his forehead, replying, "I am she."

Then Hadji caught her hands in his and intoned, "I am song."

"I am verse," she responded.

"I am heaven."

"I am earth." Hadji glanced up and nodded at Jonny.

Clearing his throat with difficulty, Jonny looked down at the paper in his hand and, in flawless Hindi, he read, "Through this oblation, which invokes prosperity, may this bridegroom flourish anew; may he flourish the wife that has been brought to him. May he excel in strength, excel in royalty. May this couple be inexhaustible in wealth that bestows luster a thousand fold."

Time seemed to hang suspended as the young couple stood, bathed in golden sunlight, gazing silently at one another. It was almost as though the universe itself stopped in acknowledgement of the momentousness of the occasion. Finally, the tableau was broken by a loud sniff from Jessie. When the three of them looked at her, she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and nose and said unapologetically, "Weddings make me cry . . . so sue me."

Jonny laughed damply. "Hey, at least you didn't have lines!" That caused all of them to laugh, and Jessie crossed over and hugged Kefira tightly. "It was absolutely beautiful," she whispered to her.

Kefira hugged her back tightly and replied in the same soft tone. "I owe you so much. I do not know how to begin to say thank you."

"You don't have to," Jessie replied softly, then leaned back and squeezed her arms firmly. "Sisters," she said firmly, that single word carrying a wealth of meanings.

"Sisters," Kefira agreed gratefully.

Jonny and Hadji exchanged pleased looks, and then Jonny said quietly. "But we aren't done yet. I have something for you, Hadji."

He looked surprised. "You do? What is it?"

"Hang on," Jonny replied and disappeared down the hall. A few moments later he returned, carrying a small box. Reaching out, he caught Kefira by the arm and drew her back to stand beside Hadji once more. Looking at the two of them, he said, "For the last five generations, there has been a tradition in the Quest family. Our great great great grandparents pledged themselves to each other in the face of strong opposition from both families and swore that nothing would ever separate them. They defied tradition and set out on their own with only their love and faith in each other to sustain them. They turned their backs on their families, shed their respective family names, and took the name of Quest as a symbol of the life they sought for themselves. In spite of the odds against them, they made it, and the Quest family flourished." Jonny looked at his brother. "Do you remember this story, Hadji?"

"Of course," his brother agreed, wondering what Jonny was getting at.

Jonny nodded, and looking at Kefira, he continued," As the story goes, on their 25th wedding anniversary, Great Great Great Grandfather Christopher Quest commissioned a ring to be made, which he presented to Great Great Great Grandmother Mary as a token of the love he still held for her. Unknown to him, she had done the same and when they presented them to each other, they discovered that the jewelsmith had created matching rings for them. Since that time, it has been tradition in the Quest family that the eldest son of the eldest son took the rings on his wedding day, and wore them as a symbol of the love he had for his wife and as a pledge to continue the dreams that were the foundation of this family. Those rings passed to our father on his wedding day, and when my mother died, they were held in trust, first by Dad and then by me, until the marriage of the eldest son."

"Jonny, _**NO!**_" Hadji gasped as he suddenly realized what his brother intended. But Jonny would not be stopped.

"Today, I pass on those rings on to you, the eldest son of our father." Jonny opened the box and revealed a pair of intricately carved gold bands nestled in the velvet lining. Smiling at Hadji and Kefira warmly, Jonny said, "Take these rings and wear them as a reminder of your faith and love for one another, and with the knowledge that whatever the future holds, you are a part of this family . . . always."

"Jonny, those belonged to your parents!" Hadji protested, looking shaken. "I was not born . . ."

Jonny looked at his brother seriously and replied in a tone that allowed for no argument. "You are the eldest son of our father. You are my brother. That you weren't born into this family doesn't make you any less a part of it." Looking his brother squarely in the eyes, Jonny held the box out to him. "These are yours by right." His look warmed, but did not waver, as he added, "I _want_ you to have them. Please."

Hadji held his brother's gaze, searching for any sign of regret. There was none. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Hadji nodded solemnly. With a shaking hand, he removed one of the gold bands from the box and slid it onto Kefira's left hand. It fit as though it had been made for her. Then Jonny removed the second ring and handed it to Kefira. Tears slid down her cheek as she slipped the ring onto her husband's finger.

They stood for a long moment, gazing down at the rings on their joined hands in silence. Finally, Jonny nudged his brother and stage whispered, "Kiss her, man!"

Laughter erupted from the two couples, then Hadji pulled Kefira into a warm embrace and kissed her tenderly. Watching them, Jonny sighed inwardly. _I just wish Dad were here to see this . . ._

Shaking himself, Jonny pushed away the thought. If the situation in Bangalore was as serious as he suspected, these were the last few moments of joy that any of them would experience for quite a while. And he was not about to let anything, _especially_ his father, intrude on that . . .


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note:** As many of you may know, _Sipahigiri_ has been in the works for over 18 months, so needless to say, Chapter 25 was written long before the events of September 11th. As I prepared to post this chapter, I considered changing the closing airport scene to more accurately reflect the realities of flying in today's world. After much consideration, I decided not to do so. Perhaps I'm too much of an optimist, but I honestly believe that the day will come when events like those of September 11th will be a thing of the past. With that hope for the future, and the belief that the world of the Quests is always "15 minutes into the future", I left it the way it was. I hope that everyone reading this story will hold the same hope for our future. With the good will and efforts of people throughout the world, perhaps soon the day will come when this kind of terror will be a thing of the past.

  
  
  


**

Chapter Twenty-five

**

  


As she sat at the table leisurely conversing with Jonny, Hadji and Kefira following a celebratory meal, Jessie glanced at the clock. She stiffened abruptly when she realized it was already 8:00 p.m. Jean-Paul could call any time and she still hadn't told anyone about the arrangements she'd made. Sighing, said quietly. "You know, we've put off reality about as long as we possibly can. The sooner we confront this, the sooner it will be over." Looking from Jonny to Hadji she asked, "So, what arrangements have you made?"

"We have plane reservations out of Logan Airport at midnight tonight," Jonny replied in the same somber tone. "We'll fly straight though to London, and from there direct to Bangalore."

"We should arrive in the early morning hours," Hadji added.

Jessie thought about that for a bit and finally shook her head. "I don't think that's good plan."

The two young men exchanged a look and Jonny replied, "Why not?"

"Because you don't know what you're walking into." 

"What would you suggest instead?" Hadji asked her.

"Fly direct to London. I don't have a problem with that. But from there, take a more round about manner of getting to Bangalore. Turn up unexpectedly. If your enemies don't know where you are or when you're due to arrive . . . or better yet, even if you're coming . . . you run less risk of being targeted the instant you set foot in Bangalore City."

Hadji considered it for a moment and then reluctantly shook his head. "For protection, it is a good plan. But there is nothing that says that things have gotten that dire. And I believe that it is important that when I arrive, it is with the proper royal carriage. To slink in will not send a strong message, either to my people or to my enemies."

"Getting yourself killed will send a worse one," Jessie replied pointedly. As she did so, Jonny saw her glance at the clock hanging on the wall just outside the kitchen door.

"Do you know something we don't, Jess?" Jonny asked her, looking troubled. "It's not like you to jump at shadows."

"The men who attacked us were not shadows," Kefira replied. "One of them even told Hadji that he would not be in a position to rule much longer."

"Yeah, but still . . ." Jonny looked across the table at his brother. "I know you and Neela have had your problems. And I know, too, that you were pretty ticked at her for the announcement of your planned marriage to Kefira. But would she honestly withhold news that indicated you were on the brink of being overthrown?"

Hadji shook his head. "No. But they take great care to see that she does not get wind of such things. I have tried to call both Rajeev and Vijay Patel today. They are my most reliable sources of information about what is going on both in the countryside and in the Palace. Unfortunately, Vijay is away from his office today and there appear to be phone line problems in Panjal Province as I am unable to get through to Rajeev."

Jessie sat forward suddenly. "I don't like that at all," she said with a frown of concern. Once again, her eyes flicked to the clock.

"I do not believe it is anything to be alarmed about," Hadji said reassuringly.

"It often happens," Kefira agreed. "Particularly if there have been storms in the mountains, which frequently happens at this time of year."

"I still don't think you should just walk in there without knowing what's been going on during the last 24 to 48 hours. Surely there's someone else you can ask."

Hadji thought about it and finally shook his head regretfully. "No, I do not believe there is. Yes, there are people that I trust, but I do not have a good method of communicating with them from here. They are hidden informants - if I try to reach them now and the conversations are intercepted, I run the risk of exposing them to my enemies. I simply do not believe the situation is serious enough to take that risk."

For the third time, Jessie's eyes darted to the clock, and it was finally more than Jonny could ignore. Leaning forward, he laid his hand on her arm and said, "All right, what's going on? What are you waiting for?"

"What?" she replied, startled.

"You've been jumpy and watching the clock for the last hour. Something's up. What is it?"

Guiltily, Jessie opened her mouth to reply, but before she had the chance, the sudden burring ring of a cell phone interrupted her. In that instant, her face made a remarkable transformation. It turned cold and distant and there was a hard tone in her voice as she rose, saying, "There's no time now for questions. Just sit there and don't say a single, solitary word until I'm finished." When Jonny would have protested, she repeated sharply, "Not a word!" Snatching up her purse, she reached in and pulled out a cell phone. Flipping it open, she answered in a voice as smooth as velvet,

"Hello? Jean-Paul . . . how wonderful to hear from you again! A find for my husband? Of what kind? Really? How interesting! Yes, I definitely want to see it. If it is as good as you claim, I am sure Anton will be more than interested." Gesturing frantically to Jonny, she pointed to the desk and pantomimed writing. He leaped up silently and snatched up a pen and paper and brought it to her as she returned to the table and sat down. "So tell me . . . Um hmmm . . . 18th century . . . yes, yes . . . gold on blue. Is it gilt? It is. How remarkable. It has been authenticated then. I see." She jotted a sequence of numbers down on the paper quickly and then read them back to him. "Docket 23-417-982457. Is that correct? And you say it's available from where? Lloyds. Wonderful. Yes, I am definitely interested. When can I see it?" They watched as a frown settled on her face. Her tone was regretful as she replied, "Tomorrow at one? I'm afraid that is impossible. I am already committed then. Can we possibly do it earlier . . . say 9:30?" She listened to the reply for a moment, then sighed before continuing. "Well, I suppose if 10:00 is the earliest you can make it, it will have to do. I will plan to meet you at the museum. Excellent. As always, Jean-Paul, working with you is nothing but a pleasure. I will see you tomorrow morning."

Flipping the cell phone closed, she commanded Jonny, "In our room on the bookshelf . . . I need that old copy of Hemingway's _A Farewell to Arms_."

"But what . . ."

**"NOW!"** she snapped. Turning to Hadji, she continued quickly. "We don't have much time. It's 8:35 and in about 20 minutes you have to be ready to walk out that door with everything you need to take with you. You won't have the chance to come back for anything. Also, dress in dark colors. We've got some places to go before we meet your plane and we don't want to be seen. Get a move on."

"I do not underst -"

"I'll explain as soon as we're on the road. Don't argue with me! We don't have the time."

Kefira took one look at Jessie's hard, determined expression and said, "Come, beloved. I will help you and Jonny pack." She was herding him toward the back of the apartment when Jonny reappeared with the requested book. He would have begun asking questions again, but Kefira stopped him. Taking the book, she passed it on to Jessie and then turned toward the back of the apartment once more. "We are to get the two of you packed. Jessie will explain as soon as she finishes what she is doing and you are ready to leave."

Jessie sat down at the table and looked at the docket number that Jean-Paul had given her. Codes came in many different forms, but some of the oldest were those based on a common reference volume. Most of the time, they were specifically-designed codebooks. But for someone like her, who wasn't in the loop on a daily basis, a codebook of that type got outdated too quickly. So when her father had set her up with his associates, they had chosen a set of common books that could be used in an emergency, but that would not look out of place sitting on the shelf in anyone's house. She had six different books that Jean-Paul could have chosen . . _A Farewell to Arms_ by Ernest Hemingway, _David Copperfield_ by Charles Dickens, _The Hunt for Red October_ by Tom Clancy, a compilation of the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy by J. R. R. Tolkien, _Rise and Fall of the Third Reich_ by William Shirer, and _Nighthawk_ by Kristen Kyle. The classics were all very specific editions, all were worn but well-cared for, and all appeared to have received a great deal of use. They were also all apparently gifts from her father at various times, as demonstrated by the inscriptions on the inside book cover. The sixth book, _Nighthawk_, was a paperback romance novel . . . what Jonny liked to call a bodice-ripper . . . that had only been through one printing. She had read them all numerous times just to ensure that she knew them as well as their apparent use seemed to indicate she should.

Jean-Paul's call had told her a great many things beyond what appeared on the surface. His telling her that he had an 18th century piece of art for her to look at had told her what he was calling for, the time of the viewing told her when, the location of the supposed auction told her what book, and the docket number used in conjunction with the book would tell her where.

Ten minutes later, Jonny reappeared at the head of the hallway, carrying a small navy blue carry-on suitcase. All the lights in the apartment had been turned off before dinner and the only illumination in the living area now came from the light above the table where Jessie sat. He stood silently for a moment in the darkness, staring at the young woman who meant so much to him. The book she had requested had been shoved away and Jessie now sat with a bowed head, contemplating something written on a sheet of paper in front of her. Her grim, distant expression suddenly made him feel like he didn't know her at all, and his belly clenched in fear and uncertainty.

Finally, he cleared his throat, causing her to twist in her chair and peer sharply into the gloom. The light from the table barely reached him and in his black cargo pants and long sleeved black T-shirt, he was little more than a dim silhouette against the distant wash of light from the bedrooms down the hall. When he saw her looking at him, Jonny said quietly, "Answer one question for me." Something in his voice caused her to pause.

"What?"

"Who's Anton?"

In the years since Race had led her to that first rendezvous with his agency contacts, he told her often that the key to surviving in that dark world of lies and deceit was the ability to put everything at a distance and to be able to act coldly and dispassionately.

A memory surfaced suddenly and she remembered a conversation she had had with her father when she was about 14 years old. They had been talking about ways to protect yourself when working undercover . . .

_"An agent's greatest weakness, Jess, are the people and things he really cares about. Allow your enemies to know what those are, and they have a powerful weapon to use against you. You must learn to distance yourself . . . especially from those people that mean the most to you."_

"But why, Dad? Why do you have to do that to people that you know you can trust?"

"Because, Ponchita, your enemies aren't always the ones you need to fear. With them, you can maintain the detachment that will allow you to survive. But the people that matter are the ones that can get behind your walls of self-defense and shatter that detachment. And when you lose that distance, you begin to make decisions based on feelings rather than cold, hard facts. You lose the objectivity you need to make hard choices."

"That's what happened to you and Mom, wasn't it?"

"In a way. Your mother couldn't deal with the distance I had to keep when I was working."

"But if that's the end result, is it really worth it?"

"It's a choice, Jessie. You either take the job or you don't. If you take it, then it's your responsibility to do what needs to be done to complete it. What you have to remember is that by doing this, not only do you keep yourself safe, but you protect them, as well."

As Jonny took a hesitant step forward, the light from above her highlighted the planes of his face in sharp contrasts of light and dark. She was struck forcibly by the fear and vulnerability visible there and she could feel that objectivity begin to crumble. _'Who's Anton . . . ?'_

Without another thought, she leaped to her feet and flung herself at Jonny. Catching him in her arms, she held him tightly. _**"No!"**_ she whispered fiercely. "Don't you even think something like that! Not _**EVER**_, you hear me?"

He clung to her frantically. "I know I've been gone a lot. I don't mean . . ."

_**"Stop!"**_ she pleaded with him. "Don't do this. It's not what you think, I swear. I love you. You know that." He didn't reply . . . simply dropped his head to her shoulder and buried his face against her neck. "I love you so much . . ." she whispered to him. Finally, she released him and pushed him back. "Go help Hadji," she told him, struggling to keep her voice from breaking. "We're running out of time. I'll explain everything, I promise."

Without another word, he turned and disappeared back down the hallway. Jessie turned back to the table and sank down into the chair again, her father's voice echoing in her head once more. In that instant, it all hit her. In a little more than three hours, Jonny was going to board a plane and leave her for a place from which he might never return. And now, on top of that, she was leading him into a situation where she was exposing him to all of the elements of her father's old job that Race hated and feared . . . into a situation where her father told her she needed to become distant and cold to keep him safe. Every instinct she had was screaming that he was in danger . . . deadly danger . . . the kind that could get him killed. That thought triggered another memory and she suddenly thought of the night they first made love . . . remembered the instant she had looked up at him and realized just how deep her love for him really was . . . remembered asking him when he first knew that he loved her. And she remembered his face and those words . . . _'when you died'_. Abruptly, she found herself shaking so hard she could barely stay upright in the chair. _I can't lose him,_ she cried to herself. _Please God, I can't lose him . . . I'll do anything you ask . . ._ She wrapped her arms around her body and leaned forward until her forehead rested on the table.

Suddenly she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and she jerked upright to see Kefira standing beside her. The ruby around her neck glowed with reflected light as she grasped it in her other hand. The ruby's fire kindled in her eyes and strength seemed to flow from her as she said fiercely, "They will survive. I know it!"

"You sound so certain . . ."

"I am. I can sense it." Kefira's conviction washed through Jessie, buoying her and filling her very soul. Fear fled before it, and she looked up at the other young woman as a responding fire ignited inside of her. Then Jessie saw the stubborn set of her mouth and uneasiness touched her. Her feeling was confirmed when Kefira added, "I am going to make sure of it."

Jessie looked at her with misgiving. "How do you plan on doing that?"

"I am going with them. I will get a ticket when we get to the airport."

"Hadji's not gonna like that."

"I do not care. He is my husband and I will not allow him to face this alone."

Jessie looked at the other girl for a long moment. Then she said softly, "I have a better idea."

Kefira eyed Jessie warily. "What?"

"Hadji is right . . . you do need some time to rest and recover." Jessie waved Kefira's forming protest aside. "Let them try their initial foray and see if they can calm the situation. If they can't . . . well, I have some things in the works that I could really use your help with."

"What kind of things?"

Jessie shot a quick glance up the hallway as the light in the guest room went out. Lowering her voice, she said swiftly. "I think you'll get the idea tonight. Will you trust me for a couple of days?"

The sound of Jonny and Hadji's voices and the flash as the last light at the end of the hallway went out forced her to a decision. She nodded once. "For a few days only," she hissed in warning.

"If they aren't out by Sunday, then we're going in," Jessie promised. Then she stood and looked at Kefira closely. "We may be in for some physical activity tonight. Are you sure you're up to it?"

Kefira nodded. "I am fine."

"Okay, then. Come on, let's see about giving them the tools that will help keep them safe until we can get to them!"

She was pulling jackets out of the closet for herself and Kefira as Jonny and Hadji reentered the room. Looking at them, she said, "Are you ready?" Both of them nodded silently. "Then we're going to leave . . . quietly. As far as I know, we haven't been spotted, but it's vital that we be sure. So we aren't going to use the front door."

"The roof?" Jonny suggested quietly.

She nodded. "My thought exactly. Let's go."

Leading the way, they slipped out the door and down the long hallway toward the storage areas. Passing those, they went to the far end of the hall. When the corridor ended, they all stopped and Jonny set his luggage down. Catching Jessie around the hips, he lifted her with ease, allowing her to grab a recessed handle in the ceiling. It was so well disguised, that if you hadn't known it was there, it might never have been found. Jessie pulled sharply on the handle, and Jonny stepped back, carrying her with him, as the door in the ceiling opened out and a wooden, collapsible staircase unfolded to the floor.

"That is handy," Kefira observed admiringly.

Jonny grinned tightly. "The woman who owned this house was a bit of an eccentric. She must have spent a small fortune having various access portals and doors installed. Come on, let's go." Grabbing the luggage once more, Hadji and Kefira followed Jessie up the staircase, emerging into the crisp, cool night air on the roof. Jonny brought up the rear, retracting the staircase and closing the entry behind them. In silence, they crossed the flat roof toward the back of the building. Jessie stopped at the roof edge and looked down. They all heard Hadji's breath catch and Jonny grinned slightly in the dark.

"Still don't like heights much, huh Hadj?" he whispered softly.

"Not particularly," he hissed stiffly in reply.

"Well, hang on, this shouldn't take long." Glancing at Jessie, he questioned softly, "Across or down?"

"Down is easier . . . across is probably safer," she replied, looking at Hadji.

"Across," was Hadji's firm reply.

She nodded once and then began moving quickly. Reaching the far back corner of the roof, she bent down and fumbled with something in the dark. Jonny quickly joined her and in the dim light of a crescent moon, the other two saw them lift a long piece of wood about 4 inches by 4 inches and about 20 feet long. Juggling the heavy, awkward length, they carefully bridged the distance between their apartment building and the one adjacent to it.

"Up and over," Jonny whispered softly to Hadji and Kefira. "Follow Jess."

After a quick scan of the surroundings to be sure everything was quiet, Jessie stepped up onto Jonny's offered knee and leaped agilely to the beam of wood. Confidently, she crossed it and dropped safely to the nearby rooftop. Without hesitation, Kefira followed Jessie's demonstrated passage and leaped down to stand beside her.

"Why do I get the feeling you have done this before?" Hadji asked his brother sourly. Without waiting for an answer, he climbed up and crossed the beam cautiously. Once Hadji had reached the safety of the far side, Jonny picked up his luggage, mounted the improvised bridge, and crossed quickly. Continuing to use the same beam of wood, the four of them crossed three more rooftops in the same fashion. On the fourth building, Jonny carefully tucked the beam into the shadows of an overhang and then they moved to the back side of the building. Hadji stared at the shiny new drainpipe that descended into the darkness of the alley below with resignation, "I do not understand why you seem to have an affinity for clandestine adventures on rooftops," he hissed at Jonny.

"Just lucky, I guess," Jonny replied softly, but Hadji could almost hear him grinning in the darkness. "Any sign of anything suspicious, Jess?"

"Everything's quiet," she whispered. "Okay, down the drainpipe. Hadji, you first. Then Kefira and Jonny. Don't try to take the luggage down with you. I'll drop it over the side once you get on the ground. Wait for me at the bottom."

"Someone will hear," Hadji protested.

"No," Jonny replied softly. "This is a furniture warehouse. They close up at 5:00 and there won't be anyone around at this time of night. Go on . . ." The other three descended quickly and before long, Jessie and the luggage were with them. The four stood in the deep darkness of the alley for a long moment, listening carefully for any indication that their descent had been noticed. Finally, Jonny gestured toward the mouth of the alley and started toward it, but a resisting hand and a tug on his arm stopped him. Turning them in the opposite direction, Jessie led them back a short distance in the direction they had come from, and then darted between two buildings and moved up into the next block.

For the next ten minutes, they all followed her in silence as she steadily worked her way northward between buildings, crossing streets in frantic bursts of speed when no one appeared to be around. They finally stopped alongside a concrete building whose face opened out onto a main thoroughfare. Pulling a key from her pocket, Jessie fit it into the lock of a decayed, scroungy-looking door at the back of the concrete structure. When she turned the knob and shoved the door open, it swung back silently on well-oiled hinges. In the dim light, Jonny and Hadji exchanged astonished looks, then followed her into the blackness. For a moment, Kefira remained in the alley, leaning against the wall. Her head ached miserably and the last several blocks she had suffered from dizziness severe enough that she was concerned she actually might fall. But she couldn't stop. This trip was important. Thrusting herself away from the wall, she followed the others inside.

Once the door was closed and locked, Jessie flipped on a light. Squinting against the sudden brightness, they saw that they had entered a garage. The place felt abandoned, everything in it covered with a thick layer of dust. Everything, that is, except for the gleaming, dark green Jaguar sedan sitting in the center of the room.

Jessie crossed to it swiftly, popping the trunk and unlocking the doors with the remote control she now held. Gesturing toward the car, she commanded, "Throw the luggage in the trunk and let's go." She was in the car with the motor running even before they got the luggage stowed in the back. When the others had gotten into the car, she triggered the automatic garage door opener and pulled out into traffic at the earliest opportunity.

Jonny waited, staring silently out the front windshield until she had negotiated the traffic and gotten onto the freeway before he asked her quietly, "What's going on, Jess? Where were you this afternoon? And who does this car belong to?"

She flicked a swift glance at him before gazing steadily out the front window once more. "The car's a rental . . . leased to a woman by the name of Monica Leveck."

"And who's Monica Leveck?" he prompted.

Jessie sighed softly. "I am." The silence that followed that comment was absolute.

Finally, Jonny replied, "I don't understand." The total lack of emotion in the statement made her flinch.

"About six years ago, something happened to my father," she began. "I don't know what it was. Maybe he was just tired and depressed . . . or maybe something happened that caused him to face his own mortality. I don't know. But whatever it was caused him to start thinking about the future . . . "

"Race always planned ahead," Jonny replied, still in that uninflected tone.

"He started thinking about a future where he was dead." It was her voice that had gone flat this time, and she felt Hadji and Kefira stir uneasily in the back seat. Beside her, Jonny turned to stare at her. Continuing in the same tone, she said, "He began to clean up things . . . tying up loose ends, if you will . . . making sure that if something happened to him, that Mom and I wouldn't be faced with situations we couldn't deal with."

"Agency things," Hadji said quietly from the back seat.

"In part," Jessie acknowledged. "It was in the fall of that year that he suddenly appeared in our house in Colombia, telling Mom that he needed some stuff that had been in boxes in storage when they divorced. Mom was seriously flustered because she thought he had taken everything that belonged to him. I remember they fought about it . . . pretty loudly, too."

"That was right before you began spending a lot of time with us," Jonny observed and they all heard the life returning to his voice.

"She was there before then," Hadji objected.

"Yeah, but not often and she'd never traveled with us. It was Christmas that year when she came for the holidays and stayed well into January. And the following summer, she joined us on that trip to Europe. And from then on, she was there regularly, every couple of months."

The quick look Jessie gave him was surprised. "You remember that Christmas? I didn't think it was all that notable."

"I remember every instant I've ever spent with you," Jonny replied softly.

She had to clear her throat before she could continue. "He took about six boxes that must have been buried in some dark recess of the basement and then left without another word. I know that they corresponded regularly over the next several weeks and the conversations left Mom seriously upset and distracted. I tried to ask her questions, but it was one of the few times when she simply refused to talk to me. Then, out of nowhere, she announced that she had made arrangements for me to go spend the holidays with Dad in Maine." Jessie shook her head. "I was thrilled, but things really hit the fan when Grandmother Velasquez found out. There were several nasty fights between Mom and Grandmother that I overhead. The things Grandmother said about Dad weren't very . . . nice." Somehow, none of them thought that was the word she was actually thinking. "But Mom weathered the storm and didn't back down, and a week before Christmas she put me on a plane and sent me to Maine."

She fell silent for a while, and none of her companions were inclined to push her. Finally, she sighed again and continued, "It was right before I was to return to Colombia that I got up one morning and Dad told me that the two of us were going to take a trip . . . said he needed to go to New York for something and he'd enjoy having me ride shotgun. I remember it surprised me when I discovered that it would just be him and me . . . I expected it to be the three of us going with him."

"I remember that trip now," Hadji commented. "I was surprised that he did not ask us to go along, also."

"So was I," Jonny agreed.

"There was a reason why he didn't," Jessie replied quietly. "I . . . I don't quite know how to explain what he did, but there were certain . . . favors . . . owed to him by other people, and on that trip he more or less notified those people that I could call in those debts if I ever needed to."

"I do not understand . . . " Kefira said hesitantly.

"Race used to be a spy," Jonny replied.

"A covert government agent," Jessie correctly dryly.

He flashed her an impudent grin that sent a wash of warmth coursing through her and said, "That's what I said . . . a spy." Then the grin faded. "And he deliberately drew you into that world? He always swore that he never wanted any of us involved in that . . ."

"I told you that I don't know what happened. All I do know is this . . . for some reason he seemed to feel that it was really important that in an emergency, I should be able to call on the few people in the old network that he ever really trusted for help. So, on that trip, he took me to meet those people." Jonny shivered slightly as he watched her. The headlights from oncoming traffic threw kaleidoscopic patterns of light and dark across her face, making her appear distant and alien. He had seen Race look like that a few times . . . and the memories it evoked weren't particularly pleasant ones.

"Who were they?" Kefira asked, fascinated.

"Really? I'll never know. I don't even know names . . . only covers and code names . . . and passwords. Only one of them was an actual, active agent, I think. The others were suppliers."

"Monica Leveck is a cover Race set up for you, then," Hadji said musingly.

"No," Jessie replied with a shake of her head. "Monica Leveck is a cover _I_ set up. Dad knows nothing about it."

"Why?" Jonny asked quietly. "And why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

Jessie sighed softly. "I didn't tell you because it wasn't my secret to tell . . . it was Dad's. Furthermore, I didn't want you in the middle of it. It's a nasty, dangerous game, Jonny. Dad was right to try to keep us out of it. But sometimes, reality just stands up and smacks you in the face. That obviously happened to Dad . . . the way Cairo did with me."

"Cairo?!" Jonny exclaimed and turned toward her abruptly. "What does Cairo have to do with this?"

Jessie stared silently out the front window for a long time. Finally, she said, "I guess Cairo made me realize just how unprepared I really was for crisis situations."

"That wasn't your fault! I was the one . . ."

"Jonny, I can't expect you to take care of me like a child! I was stupid in Cairo. You and Dr. Quest and Dad were all there and I felt safe, so I didn't pay attention. I was sloppy. If Dad wasn't seriously disappointed in me, he _should_ have been! He's taught me better than that." She glanced at him quickly, then reached out and grasped his hand. "We look out for each other. That goes without saying. But we also look out for ourselves, as well. _That's_ what I didn't do. And because I didn't, you were hurt terribly . . ."

_**"Me?!!?**_ I wasn't the one that was hurt . . ."

Jessie grew very still and the pain and guilt in the look she flashed him was almost more than he could bear. "Yes, you were," she finally whispered. "Physical injuries are easy to recover from, but the scars . . . the emotional scars you were left with are so deep, I don't know if they'll ever fully heal." She shivered slightly. "What happened to you at Christmas terrified me, Jonny. You say Cairo was your fault because you couldn't protect me. I disagree. I say it was **my** fault for not being more careful." She let that hang for a moment, then seemed to gather herself before continuing. "But that's not really the point any longer. The point is that we have to learn from our mistakes. And I have. When we moved away from the Compound in May, we lost much of our security. Our biggest safety net was the fact that we kept a low profile and that most people didn't realize who we were. But I knew that it couldn't last. So, I made up my mind that I wasn't going to be unprepared this time. If something ever happened that required that we had to move quickly or be able to protect ourselves, I was going to be ready. So Monica Leveck was born."

"Who _is_ Monica Leveck?"

"She is the 35-year-old wife of a very wealthy, older French businessman who lives in Florida. She flits all over the world, she's very much into art . . . particularly sculpture, which her husband, Anton, adores . . . and she supports a whole raft of obscure charities."

"But how . . ." Jonny began

"It's all lies . . . carefully crafted lies, but lies all the same. If you go to Florida and try to find Anton and Monica, you won't be able to. Locals will tell you stories, but locations are always vague. Their financial status seems to exist . . . but only in the netherworld of the electronic. Monica is the only one who has actually been seen, and she comes and goes unexpectedly . . . buying and selling antiques, artifacts and artwork. She is known in galleries and auction houses all up and down the Eastern seaboard and in the larger cities like Boston, Washington, D.C., Charlotte . . ."

"Anywhere you can easily reach from here," Hadji commented.

"Yes. Certain owners of galleries or banking institutions have met her and consider her an outstanding customer . . . even though she rarely, if ever, buys anything."

"How did you do that?" Kefira demanded, fascinated by the idea of the fabrication of lies that Jessie had managed to weave.

Jess shrugged in response. "Attitude, the wonders of the electronic age, and a few selective purchases here and there that were turned around and sold again very quickly to ensure that the cash flow covered the original purchase. I was also able to serve as an intermediary between buyers who wished to stay anonymous a few times, so it actually did appear that I was buying."

"How many of the people you dealt with actually knew that Monica Leveck and Jessica Bannon were the same person?" Jonny asked.

"No one . . . until today. Today, all of the time and effort at setting up this cover paid off."

"Who are we going to see? Who is Jean-Paul?" There was a long, protracted silence in the car and finally Jonny said, "Jess?"

She took a deep breath and then said softly, "Forgive me, love, but I can't tell you. It will have to be enough that he is a man that can provide you with certain items you are liable to need that we can't simply walk into a store and buy."

Hadji and Kefira exchanged a concerned look.

Jonny was silent for a long time. Finally, he asked, "You trust this man?"

"My father trusted him. That's enough for me."

"All right. I understand that you do what you have to do. I don't like it, but I can respect it." There was no doubt that those words were hard for Jonny. They could all hear it. But it was a testament to how much both Jonny and Jessie had grown that she could ask it of him . . . and that he could grant it. Jonny released a long breath and asked, "So what happens now?"

"We're going to meet the man known as Jean-Paul. I ask that you all follow my lead and let me do the talking. Don't interrupt, take what he gives you without question, and do what he asks. And above all, whatever you think, don't object. Clear?" Murmured assent from all of them caused her to nod.

Jessie had been watching her rear view mirror carefully for some time. Jonny caught a sudden frown wrinkle her brow. "Problem?" he asked her, tensing.

"There's a car back there . . . I don't know. Maybe I'm just jumpy . . ."

"If you're jumpy, there's a problem," Jonny replied with conviction. "How close are we to our rendezvous point?"

"A whole lot closer than I'm comfortable with. Is everyone belted in?" The chorused affirmative made her nod grimly once more. "We should be getting off here, but we're not going to. Let's find out if he's really interested in us . . ." She accelerated sharply, and began darting through traffic.

Hadji twisted around to peer out the back window. "What kind of car?"

"Dark, four-door sedan," she replied. "Import of some sort, but he never got close enough to tell make or model."

"Is he still there?" Jonny questioned, after a few harrowing minutes of blurred lights and car horns.

"Oh, yeah," she replied, her face hard and determined now. "Definitely following and making a serious effort to catch us now. Hold on . . ."

From the far inside lane, she jerked the wheel sharply, cutting across two lanes of traffic. Then she applied the brakes for a brief instant, allowing a car on her right to pass, and then accelerated sharply once more, hitting the exit ramp still doing close to 90 mph. Just as they dropped down off the elevated roadway, they saw a dark BMW sedan flash past, unable to duplicate the move and make the exit. Brakes squalled as Jessie desperately tried to slow the speeding vehicle for the rapidly approaching light at the bottom of the ramp. Knowing there was no way she would be able to stop, she leaned on the horn briefly and then shot through the red light into the intersection. Luckily, there was no stopped traffic in this relatively deserted area. She yanked hard on the steering wheel throwing the careening vehicle into a power slide. It yawed widely through the intersection, skittering precariously as two wheels came up off the pavement. Then, it clipped the far curb, dropped back onto four wheels and Jessie accelerated hard away from the light. Turning almost immediately, she began darting through the rapidly narrowing, dingy streets, until suddenly, she killed the lights and darted into a dark alley between two large warehouses. There she stopped and for the first time the four of them had the chance to catch their breath.

After a moment, Jonny grinned in the dark and said, "Very nice. That rivaled some of our power sled races in Questworld."

Jessie snorted softly, watching the entrance to the alley carefully for any sign of their pursuers.

"Do you know where we are?" Hadji asked.

"Not precisely," Jessie replied, "but our rendezvous point can't be too far away. We're down in the warehouse district along the Boston Harbor docks. We're to meet the man in a warehouse along here. I've got the address . . . it's just a question of finding the place."

"How are we doing on time?"

Jessie checked her watch. "We're late. We really can't afford to sit here and wait very long."

"Can we leave the car here?" Kefira asked. "This area seems pretty deserted. If we back the car a bit further into the alley it is unlikely to be spotted. If our pursuers are searching for us in this car, we may be able to avoid them more easily on foot."

"It will make us even later, but it might be better," Jessie replied. "What do you guys think?"

"It seems reasonable to me," Hadji agreed.

"Me, too," Jonny said. "Your call, though."

Jessie nodded. "On foot it is. Let's move."

She backed the car more deeply into the alleyway, and then they all slipped out into the darkness. Jessie was the last to leave, working at something up under the dashboard with a small flashlight before locking the door and moving to join the others.

Jonny gave her a questioning look. Grinning, she held up a small two-pronged part. "Fuel pump fuse. Car may be stripped when we get back, but it's not going to get heisted!" Then, looking around carefully, Jessie led the way out of the alley and began moving up the street at a swift, yet cautious, pace. After about two blocks, Jessie sighed in relief.

"I know where we are," she said softly, "We've still got some distance to cover, but it could be worse. Come on, let's take to some less obvious paths. Following her, they once again slipped into alleys, working their way closer and closer to the docks. Finally, she called a halt, peering out at a warehouse that fronted the water across a large open expanse of tarmac. Suddenly, Jonny felt her looking at him and when he looked down, he could just see her grinning in the poor light.

"What?" he asked.

"If you have an affinity for rooftops . . . I seem to have one for waterfront warehouses!" She could hear Jonny's soft chuckle. Leaning down, he kissed her.

"God, I love you," he breathed into her ear.

Her only reply was another darting kiss, a quick caress, and a whispered, "Wait here . . ." Then she was gone.

From the shelter of the alley, the three of them watched as a dark shadow flitted from one piece of cover to the next until with a single, all out sprint, she crossed about ten feet of open ground and disappeared into the shadows of their destination. After a few endless minutes, the silence was suddenly broken by the high, far off sound of a nighthawk. Jonny turned swiftly and breathed, "That's us. Kefira . . . you first. Follow the same path Jess did. Go quickly but stay out of sight as much as you can. Jess will be waiting." Without hesitation, the young woman nodded and was gone. Jonny was impressed as he searched the shadows for signs of her passage. He didn't see her at all until she broke from cover and made the crossing to the far warehouse. Then she disappeared into shadow once more.

Hadji went next and also made it safely across the open area. Jonny was just about ready to move when a sudden flash of headlights made him stop. Spotting the car moving toward him, he faded back more deeply into the shadows and watched as a dark-colored BMW sedan drove up and parked in front of the warehouse. Two men climbed out of the car, locking it behind them, and knocked on the street-side door of the warehouse. After a brief moment, the door opened and the two men slipped inside. Jonny remained motionless for several minutes, waiting to see if they would reappear. When they didn't, he turned and retreated some distance up the street before making a hasty crossing to the other side. Then he worked his way back to where the others were waiting for him.

When he materialized at Jessie's side, she turned on him in apparent fury. Smacking him silently on the arm, she reached up, yanked his head down, and hissed sharply in his ear, "Where were you???"

Shifting so he could reply in the same fashion, he whispered back, "I think our friends in the black car just arrived." She jerked back in surprise and then, shaking his resisting hand off of her arm, she eased up the side of the building until she could see around the corner. All three of them could see the grim look on her face in the dim illumination of the light above the far door. Jerking her head, Jessie gestured for silence and led the way back along the side of the huge structure toward the waterside of the building. As they neared the docks, Jonny spotted a door in the side of the building. Dim light seeping from the doorframe made its outline visible. Suddenly, Jonny stumbled against something heavy and soft. He would have turned a small penlight on it, but Jessie stopped him. Grabbing his hand, she laid it against her cheek and shook her head sharply. Stepping up to the door she held something up at about face level and they all saw the silhouette of the gun against reflected light from the water nearby. A soft, metallic snick heralded the priming of the weapon. Then, she jerked her head and eased the door open carefully.

A quick look inside showed her that the coast was clear. Gesturing to Jonny and Hadji, she pointed toward the body of the man that was now visible in the wash of light from the doorway. The two young men grabbed him and carried him inside. Jonny inspected him carefully in the dim light of the warehouse. He was of medium height, compactly built, and dressed all in black. As Jonny stared at the man, he felt a shiver work its way up his spine. This man had 'spook' written all over him. Obviously, Jessie had found a guard waiting at the back door to the warehouse and had taken him out before he had the chance to discover and reveal their presence. Jonny breathed a soft sigh of relief when he found the man was alive and in no danger. However, Jonny thought that they didn't want to risk his waking up unexpectedly. Not far from the door, he found a pile of old rope and crating materials. Gesturing at Hadji, the two of them carried the man over to that area, and before long the stranger was bound securely, gagged, and secreted in a dark corner of the building. Then they rejoined their companions.

The warehouse was huge, filled with crates and boxes of all shapes and sizes. The heady aroma of the place said that it was used to ship spices or other fragrant products. Suddenly, they all heard the low murmur of voices. Moving carefully, they skirted the stacks of crates, easing forward toward sound.

"What do you mean, you lost the car?" a voice snapped irritably.

"I mean we lost the car. Somehow, she must have spotted us." They peered around a stack of crates and saw two men facing a third not far from an office. All three men were dressed in black and they were all armed. Jessie didn't recognize the first two men, but the third was a face she knew . . . Jean-Paul. But this was a substantially different man than the slightly foppish individual she was accustomed to dealing with.

"You're sure it was her driving?"

"How the hell should I know? You told me what she was driving. That's what I spotted. The windows of the car were darkened so I never saw the driver. And from what you told me, it was a crapshoot if I would have recognized her anyway . . . you said either a 35-year-old woman with tawny hair or a young woman who, the last time you saw her, was a 12-year-old redhead. What was I supposed to do with that? I'll tell you this much, though, the move she used . . . if it was her . . . was one only a pro could have executed."

"What about where she came from?"

"I don't know that either. We picked her up on the freeway. For all we know, she could have gotten on anywhere in the metropolitan area."

Jessie gestured at her companions, making a fanning motion with her hands. Tapping Jonny on the chest, she pointed right, she pointed Hadji to the left, and Kefira she gestured to remain where she was. One final gesture very clearly said, _follow my lead_. The others nodded and quickly faded away into the darkness. Then Jessie focused her attention back on the men.

"Well, shit. It's 10:20. She's late. I don't like this one bit!"

"How long do we wait?"

"As long as it takes."

"Who the hell is she?"

Jean-Paul grunted in frustration. "She's Race Bannon's only child, that's who she is. What's more, judging by the stuff she's asked me for, she's in a load of hot water. And her old man knows nothing about it . . . she flat-out told me that. Do you have any idea what Bannon will do to us if we let anything happen to her?"

"What he will do is not nearly as significant as what I'm likely to do to you right now if you make any wrong moves," the young lady in question said, suddenly seeming to appear out of thin air. All three men whirled and the two that had been following them reached for their guns. "Uh uh uh," she admonished gently, bringing the deadly-looking pistol to bear on the three of them. They all froze. Jessie smiled coldly, moving more fully out into the light as she gestured with the pistol and said, "Better. Now, hands over your head, boys . . . nice and high. I think we'll just get rid of the hardware . . . "

As though she had been summoned, Kefira appeared silently out of the surrounding darkness. Moving past Jessie, she gave the three men a wide berth and came up behind them. Systematically, she searched each man, removing a variety of lethal hardware. Just as Kefira was finishing with the last man, Jessie caught the almost imperceptible shift as the man in the middle tensed, preparing to make some sort of move against the nearby girl. But he never got the chance. Even before Jessie had the chance to shout a warning, Kefira was moving, dropping to a crouch and lashing out with one leg. The move caught her potential attacker totally by surprise and he landed hard on his back, the air exploding out of his lungs in an abrupt cry. Just as quickly he found himself pinned to the floor by a foot planted squarely on his Adam's apple, staring up into the barrel of his own gun.

"Do you really want to die today, my friend?" she asked, her voice dark and rich as velvet. "It can be arranged . . ."

"So you don't stand alone after all," Jean-Paul said, staring hard at the two young women in front of him. In their snuggly fitting black leather pants and jackets, they appeared very deadly indeed.

"How, where, and with whom I stand is none of your affair," she replied, in a tone as cold as the icy green of her eyes. "You are simply contracted to supply certain items." A sudden commotion in the darkness behind and to her right caused everyone to tense, but her quick gesture held all of them in place. After a moment there was silence again. Three heartbeats later, Jonny materialized out of the darkness and dumped the body of a fourth man at her feet. She didn't even bother to look down.

"Any others?" she asked him.

"One more," he replied shortly. "He'll be along in a moment."

As if on cue, Hadji appeared with another man hoisted over his shoulder. "Where do you wish me to put him?"

Jessie's eyes flicked around the space and then she jerked her head toward the office. "In there. Lock 'em in if you can. If not, barricade the door."

"What about our friend from the back door?" Jonny questioned, hoisting the man up off the floor again.

"He's not going to cause us any trouble. Just leave him."

Suddenly Jean-Paul began to chuckle. "Very efficient," he said. "You have made your point, Ms. Bannon. Without a doubt, you are your father's daughter. If you will direct the young lady to allow my associate to get up off the floor, we will proceed to business."

Staring at the man a moment longer, she suddenly relaxed and nodded at Kefira. "Let him up."

Kefira stepped back, still keeping the weapon carefully leveled at her opponent as he rose, rubbing his throat gingerly. She backed away until she stood beside Jessie. By that time, Jonny and Hadji and gotten rid of their burdens as well, and they rejoined the two young women, arranging themselves in a line in front of Jean-Paul. Cordially, he gestured to them to follow, and he led the way toward the back of the warehouse.

Suddenly, Jonny looked around with a frown. "Something isn't right," he said. "This space is wrong."

Jessie looked around sharply, then looked back at him again. "What is it?"

Jonny was staring at the back of the building, which they were paralleling as they moved toward the far corner. "There's no door in this wall . . . but if it's the back wall of the building, it shouldn't be here. From the outside, this warehouse was rectangular. That looks like an exterior wall, but it can't be. The distance is too short compared to the exterior of the building."

"Very good, young man. Not many people have ever caught that difference, and those that have were expecting to find something like that. Were you?"

"No," Jonny replied tersely.

Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow. "Then how . . ."

"He has good depth perception," Jessie said sharply, cutting him off. "We don't have time for this. Let's get it over with."

Nodding succinctly, Jean-Paul moved forward quickly, outdistancing them and reaching a point not far from the corner of the building ahead of everyone else. What he did, no one saw, but suddenly, a gap appeared in the barrier and bright, white light spilled out into the darkness. Leading the way, Jean-Paul stepped through into a space that had been carefully outfitted as a weapons testing room. Dartboard style targets line one wall to their left and directly ahead of them was a waist-high ledge on which a stack of heavy, cardboard targets lay. Four sets of tracks were suspended about seven feet off the floor on an intricate, ceiling-mounted scaffolding that ran from the ledge back to the far wall some 30 yards distant. There were also a host of other targets obviously designed to allow practice with a variety of hand weapons. But after a cursory glance at her surroundings, Jessie's attention focused on a table to the immediate right of the door. Carefully laid out on a padded white cloth was an assortment of weapons.

Jean-Paul gestured an invitation and Jessie moved immediately to the table, closely followed by the others. There were four flat black semi-automatic pistols - three 9 mm Glocks and the requested HK 9 mm - with a single ammunition clip beside each. Next to each gun was a nylon webbed shoulder holster. With a sound of satisfaction, Kefira reached out, picked up the HK, and began to examine it closely. Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows in surprise and then gestured for one of his men to mount a target on the firing range. The sound of the track kicking into operation caused all of them to look up. Jean-Paul held out a set of ear baffles to Kefira and gestured at the target, which had come to a stop about two thirds of the way down the shooting range. "If you please," he said to her meaningfully.

Kefira looked at Jessie questioningly, who replied dryly. "He won't let you take it unless you can prove to him you can use it."

Kefira's lips twitched as she attempted to suppress a smile. With no warning, she snatched up the ammunition clip, smacked it into place, took two steps away from the table, dropped and somersaulted up into a kneeling position, and took six shots in rapid succession at the target, upward from underneath the firing ledge. The motion was so quick and fluid that no one even had the chance to react before she was finished. Rising neatly to her feet, she walked the added five feet over to the ledge and smacked the recall button for the target. As the target moved slowly back toward them they could all see the enlarged hole right over the heart of the man-shaped target. There was only one.

"Nice weapon," she said to Jean-Paul, as she passed him on the way back to the table to look at the other items. The man cleared his throat with difficulty.

Jessie looked at Jonny and Hadji and said quietly, "Take the pistols over to the target range and get used to them. We'll go over the other stuff after you're comfortable with the guns." Her expression warned them not to protest. Both young men nodded and did as they were directed. Meanwhile, Kefira began inspecting the various knives spread out on the table.

Gesturing at the two men from the car, Jean-Paul added, "They will drill you in the use of everything on the table. You don't leave here until I know you can handle them." Then, as the noise of gunfire filled the room, Jean-Paul gestured at Jessie and the two of them moved a short distance away. They stood for a moment watching the others. Jonny and Hadji worked steadily at the target range with one man behind them as the other worked with Kefira. She was now using the Glock and appeared to be struggling a bit.

Jean-Paul's eyebrow rose in surprise. "The way she handled that HK . . . " Then he shrugged and looked at Jessie. "My apologies, Ms. Bannon. I should have expected that Race's daughter would be head and shoulders above most of the idiots I deal with."

"I learned the hard way a number of years ago that it does not pay to be unprepared, Jean-Paul. Now I make it a point to see that I am. And if you would prefer, you are welcome to call me Jessica."

"Very well. Thank you. I've provided you with an assortment of small weaponry and some added bonuses. There's the standard stuff . . . a variety of knives designed to be secreted in different places, the full-sized handguns, and a couple of the smaller two-shot pistols designed to mount into sleeves. In addition, I've added some small charge explosives that can be hidden on the person, a very handy belt that converts to a grappling hook and line, some throwing stars, and this . . ." He held up what looked to be a fine, flexible wire about 18" in length. Both ends of the length appeared to be slightly thicker and terminated in a rigid U-shape.

Jessie looked at the man coldly. "I told you . . . no garrotes."

Jean-Paul contemplated the wire with a thoughtful smile. "I suppose it could probably be used as a garrote," he said. "But that's not its purpose. Allow me to demonstrate." He led her over to a scaffolding setting against one wall. It was constructed of heavy-gauge metal tubing about 1/2 inch thick. Jean-Paul walked up to it, grasped the two handles attached to the wire and snapped it sharply. Then he flicked the wire around one of the metal tubes and wrapped the wire around one of the bars and pulled it taut. A sharp hiss and an acrid odor suddenly filled the room and in the next instant, the wire snapped free and the scaffolding slumped precariously. Jean-Paul bowed slightly as he held it out for Jessie's inspection.

Carefully, Jessie took it from him and inspected it closely. "Interesting," she commented after a moment. "Slightly serrated and loaded with what . . . hydrochloric acid?"

He shook his head. "A particularly corrosive variety of sulfuric acid. The wire is actually two finely serrated pieces of flexible, tempered steel that are coated with an inert form the acid. When it is snapped sharply and then wrapped around an object, friction generated by the movement of the two pieces against each other generates heat, which releases the corrosive agent."

"Reusable?"

"Yes, but each time, the corrosive become weaker. It's generally not good for more than three or four uses before it's exhausted. You've also got to be careful about fumes in an enclosed space."

Jessie nodded. "Noted." She inspected the device closely once more and then smiled grimly. "Yes, I can see where this might be extremely useful." A sharp thump caused both of them to look up. Kefira and Hadji were now standing together while another man demonstrated throwing technique with one of the knives. They watched as Kefira walked over and pulled a knife out of the wall just below the target. Walking back to where the two men were standing, she laid the knife flat on her hand as though weighing the balance. Then she caught it by the blade, turned, and threw the knife swiftly. It sailed through the air and embedded deeply about two inches below the center of the target. The agent nodded and then gestured to Hadji to try.

"A very deadly lady," Jean-Paul observed. "I don't believe I'd want to be on her bad side." Then a frown furrowed his brow. "I know him," he murmured softly, staring hard at Hadji. "Where have I seen that face?"

"What about the other items?" Jessie demanded swiftly, diverting his attention from the Indian couple.

He focused on her once more. "I should have it all by late tomorrow night, but it will take me another day to get it here to Boston."

"Would delivery be easier if it was done in New York?"

He contemplated her for a moment. "Yes," he replied.

"Then I'll take delivery in New York. Will Saturday night do?"

"I can make that. Where?"

"La Guardia Airport, hanger 2317. I also want to add something to the order. I need a couple of hand-held missile launchers with about 20 rounds each."

Jean-Paul swore sharply. "What are you trying to do, girl? Where is all of this stuff going? Your father is going to kill me . . ."

"My father will be nothing but grateful to you if it turns out that I actually have to use this stuff," she replied. Then, for the first time, he saw that glacial countenance thaw slightly and her smile actually seemed to reach her eyes briefly. "Believe me, Jean-Paul, I'm not going to use any of it if I don't have to. And if I'm really lucky, in a couple of weeks I might even contact you to see if you're in the market to take it all back." Then she looked at her watch. "We're almost out of time. Let's get them outfitted and then we have to go." Turning from him, Jessie gestured the other three back over to the arms table and twenty minutes later, the four of them slipped out of the building into the dark streets once more.

As they carefully made their way back to the waiting car, Jessie noticed that Kefira seemed to be lagging behind. Just as she turned to say something, the other girl staggered into the nearby alley wall. Jessie reached out swiftly and caught her arm, demanding softly, "Are you okay?"

Kefira smiled warmly, as the four of them stepped out of the alley into a brightly lit street. The deep shadows around her eyes showed prominently in the harsh yellow glare of the sodium lights. "I am fine, my friend. I am just . . . a little . . ." Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered and she started to slump to the ground.

"Hadji!" Jessie hissed frantically as she caught the young woman against her. Almost before she finished forming his name, he was there, scooping Kefira up into his arms with a panicked look on his face.

"Kefira??" His voice held a frantic note that Jessie and Jonny had never heard before. "My love, answer me!"

She quickly roused and smiled up at him ruefully. "I . . . I am all right, beloved. I believe I am just a bit more tired than I had thought."

He whispered her name and hugged her to him even more tightly. "You should not be out here . . . you should still be resting . . ."

Jessie looked at her friend with concern and a good dose of guilt. "Kefira, I am _**so**_ sorry . . . I should have realized . . ."

Kefira cut her off, "No, my friend, it is not your fault. I felt fine . . ." She looked from her friend to her husband and back again. "_Truly_ . . . and I am fine . . . just a little tired." Then she grinned up at Hadji, and he could see that the fire had returned to her eyes. "Now, if you would just set me dow-"

"No!" all three chorused.

Kefira frowned at each one of them, in turn. "I am not helpless! I can walk . . ."

"You almost fainted!" Hadji exclaimed, his voice still edgy and tinged with fear.

Jonny and Jessie exchanged a brief look, then Jonny suggested, "How about this? Let Hadji carry you to the car," he grinned at her a bit impishly, "if only to pacify him . . ." Kefira chuckled as Hadji made a sound of protest. "You can rest on the ride to Logan and then we'll let you come out to the gate to see us off. Okay?"

"And you must then let Jessie take you home to rest for the next few days," Hadji added quickly.

Kefira looked up at her husband and nodded reluctantly. "Very well. I will do as you say . . . Excellency," she replied, with a bit of mischief dancing in her eyes.

Jonny and Jessie chuckled softly as Hadji just shook his head in exasperation and complained, "I hate it when you do that . . ."

The remainder of the trip back to the car was made quickly and in silence. Once there, Jessie wove her way swiftly back to the freeway and set the fastest speed she dared for the airport. In the back seat, Hadji cradled Kefira to him possessively and for a long time their low, indistinguishable murmurs were the only sounds in the car.

Finally, Jonny broke the silence with a question. "This Jean-Paul . . . do you still trust him?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

Jessie reached out and caught his hand, squeezing it tightly. "Jonny, what is it?"

She saw him shake his head sharply. "Nothing."

"Lie," she said softly. "Now is not the time to be doing that. Tell me."

He stared out the front window for a long time before he finally replied, "It was bad enough when he knew you only as Monica Leveck. But now he knows you as Jessie Bannon, too . . ."

"Jonny, he knew me as Jessica Bannon long before he knew Monica Leveck. The only difference now is that he knows that Monica and Jessica are the same person. And my father trusts him. Do you honestly believe that Dad would have taken me to him all those years ago if he didn't? You know how he is about my safety . . . about the safety of all of us. Dad set this up so that if the time ever came when I really _needed_ this kind of help, I could get it. I don't like being faced with the need of accessing it, but I'm grateful it's available."

"Just be careful," he begged her. "It's a dirty business . . . you know that. It's the reason Race got out. Don't get dragged into it over this . . ."

She squeezed his hand hard. "I won't. I swear."

Retrieving her hand, she made the exit off the freeway and into the airport, and before long the four of them had bags checked, were through airport security, and were at the gate waiting for the plane. Kefira clung tightly to Hadji's hand, while Jonny sat slumped in a chair staring out across the taxiway at the planes and Jessie prowled restlessly around the waiting area. None of them seemed to have much to say to each other. As the plane turned and approached the jetway, Jessie came up and stood behind Jonny, laying her hands on his shoulders. He leaned his head back against her stomach and smiled up at her stiffly.

"Well, here we go again."

Jessie tried to smile gaily as she replied, "Why is it that you always get to have all the fun?" But the attempt at humor sounded flat to both of them. Abandoning the effort, she looked deeply into his eyes and stroked his cheek with light fingers as the attendant began call for boarding of the flight. He sighed softly and rose. Drawing her tightly against his side, the two of them walked over to join Hadji and Kefira.

"Guess it's time to go," Jonny said to his brother.

"Yes," Hadji agreed reluctantly. He turned to Kefira once more and although a soft smile graced his lips, his eyes were awash with a torrent of emotions. "You have promised to go home and rest," he reminded her, drawing her against him. She nodded wordlessly, her head resting on his chest. He held her for a moment longer and then pushed her back gently. "You take great care," he warned her softly. "Remember that you can never be certain where our enemies may appear."

"I will remember," she replied, her voice rough and tight. She reached up and caressed his cheek gently. "Go with God, beloved . . . and be well."

He nodded, swallowing around the lump that had formed in his throat. For an endless moment, their gazes locked, and countless words seem to flow unspoken between them. But, at last, he cupped her face in his hands, leaned down, and in the instant before their lips met in a tender kiss, he whispered for her ears alone, "I love you."

Averting her eyes, Jessie looked at Jonny. "You call us," she told him firmly. "Every day. **Every** day, you understand. You know the check-in schedule. Use it. I want to--"

Jonny laid his fingers over her lips, stilling her words. "We'll be careful," he told her. "And I promise we'll check in. It's one thing to stir up trouble when Hadji's away from Bangalore, but you know the way he can be. He'll put an end to this quickly enough, and we'll be back before you know it."

"Of course you will," she replied, putting on a brave front, but the effect was spoiled when her voice cracked on the last word. Abruptly, she flung herself into his arms, clinging to him fiercely. "You come back to me, Quest, you hear me?" she demanded in an intense voice that was blurred by the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. "I need you."

Jonny buried his face in her hair and held her tightly for a long moment. Finally, he tilted her head back and kissed her deeply one last time and then stepped away. "Take care, love. We'll be home as soon as we can."

And with one final look at the two young women they were leaving behind, Jonny and Hadji turned and boarded the plane for London.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-six**

  


After Rajeev Subramanian died, Vijay Patel sat for a long time, consumed by grief. He had known the man all of his life and he had been one of the finest people Vijay had ever known. To see him cut down for no reason other than to further another man's lust for power was almost more than he could bear. Finally, a sound behind him penetrated the fog and he turned sharply. Standing about five feet away were two children . . . one a young boy of twelve or thirteen and the other a girl, a year or so younger. The boy had his arm around his companion and both stood frozen, staring at Vijay with huge, terror-filled eyes. Vijay remained perfectly still, knowing that any movement would send the two fleeing in blind panic. It took two tries before Vijay was able to reply.

"Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you."

After a long moment, the boy asked hesitantly, "Is Mr. Subramanian injured? The lady sent us away . . ."

Vijay looked down at the body of his friend sadly, unsure how to respond. "What is your name?"

"Nasim." The boy paused, then asked solemnly, "He is dead, isn't he?"

Vijay sighed. "Yes, Nasim, he is."

"The Janissaries did this."

The flat tone and depth of hatred in the boy's voice shook Vijay clear to his soul. "What do you know of the Janissaries?" he asked.

"They are evil men! The Sultan has banned them. They have no right here!"

"No, they do not, Nasim. Can you do something for me?"

The child eyed him warily. "What do you want?"

"We cannot leave them here like this. I need for you to run home and get your father. Tell him that Mr. Subramanian and his wife have been attacked and that I need his help."

"Who are you?" the boy questioned belligerently.

"I am Vijay Patel. Please, Nasim. Go quickly. There is no dignity in this for our friend, and I need help to do what is proper."

Nasim stared at him for a long time. Finally, he nodded, and drawing the girl with him, the two turned and ran. Vijay rose to his feet slowly. Then, leaning down, he picked up Rajeev's limp body and carried it back to where Anila lay. Then he sat down once more to wait. When the boy returned, he brought not only his own father, but what appeared to be two thirds of the men from the surrounding countryside. They were silent and grim as they stopped and stared at the sight of the Subramanians. Vijay rose to face them.

"I am . . ."

"You are known to us, Vijay Patel," the man in the lead interrupted him stiffly.

Vijay hesitated and then bowed to the man respectfully. "You honor me. And you are . . . ?"

For a long moment, Vijay wondered if the man would answer. Finally, he inclined his head slightly. "I am Tarang Kumar."

Vijay felt a small amount of relief. Tarang Kumar . . . Rajeev's main mine foreman . . . a man who could be trusted. "I seek your assistance, Tarang Kumar. Our friends have been brutally attacked and murdered. We cannot leave them like this. Will you help me provide a fitting place for them to lie until a member of their family can be found?"

The man nodded and then gestured to the others, several of whom moved in, lifted the bodies with care, and carried them away. "His son will be sent for," the man stated. "Where are the other children?"

Vijay closed his eyes briefly in pain and then gestured silently at the still smoking rubble nearby. When he opened them again, he saw both agony and rage in the man's face.

"Nasim!" he snapped sharply. From the crowd, the boy stepped forward once more.

"Yes, Father."

"The other children. Where were they?"

"They were all in the study room, Father. Only four of us were outside . . . having been given specific jobs to do by the Lady Anila."

"What of Maia and Srinivasan?"

"They were in the house. I saw them just before I left. The lady had sent for them."

"And your little sister?"

Vijay saw the boy tremble. "Ramani was within also, Father." 

The fury in the man's eyes was fearsome as he stared at Vijay. "Who has done this?!" he demanded fiercely.

"The boy said Janissaries . . ."

"They have a leader. Janissaries do not act without orders. **_Who???_**"

"I do not know for certain," Vijay hedged cautiously. In his ears, Rajeev's dying words echoed . . . _war is upon us_ . . . If he could not diffuse it, this situation could be the fuse that would ignite it. "They were dead and the attackers gone before I arrived."

"Nasim, did you see the man who lead the Janissaries?"

"Yes, Father."

"Who was he?"

"I do not know. I had never seen him before . . . but I will know him when I see him again!" The fury in the boy was no less than that of his father.

"Then we will find him and he will pay!" the man snarled in frustration and turned away.

"_Wait!_" Vijay called frantically. "Tarang, you cannot go rampaging through the countryside searching for one man amidst the entire population of Bangalore. Think! If you do this, the Janissaries will beset you for certain."

"What would you have us do?" the man demanded, turning to Vijay once more. Behind him, the crowd had been growing as word had spread across the countryside and people began congregating. "They have been destroying our homes, razing our crops, stealing our sons, attacking our daughters . . . And now they have killed the one man who stood up to them and defended our right to live! Do you expect us to just sit back and allow this to continue? We have the right to defend ourselves . . . the right to exact justice from those that harm us!"

"**No!**" Vijay snapped back forcefully. "Yes, you have the right to defend yourself if attacked. But you do NOT have the right to decree who shall pay for those crimes. Only the Sultan has the right to call for a man's death in that way."

"The Sultan is not here! None even know how to reach him . . ."

"**_I_** know how to reach him. I talk with him regularly, as did Rajeev."

"Then tell me, Vijay Patel. If you know the mind of the Sultan so well . . . why is he not _here_, defending his people, rather than being in some foreign country where he gets word of what happens only through others?" The man's anger and grief were almost overpowering and the low, ugly murmur of the crowd told Vijay that Kumar was doing nothing more than giving voice to their own thoughts.

Glaring back at the man fiercely, Vijay demanded, "Would you have the Sultan dead . . . dead as his father died . . . with a knife in his back from one he called 'friend'? The Sultan has attempted to come back more times than I can count. But both Rajeev Subramanian and I counseled him to stay away. It is not safe for him in the Palace . . ."

"The Regent . . ." the man spat, but Vijay cut him off before he could say anything else.

"The **_Regent_** plays the most dangerous game of them all . . . positioning herself among her son's enemies so that he does not have to do so." The stunned expressions on the faces around him said that none of them had considered that possibility. "Who do you think sent me here to warn Rajeev today?" he demanded fiercely. But then he faltered and looked back over his shoulder at the smoldering remains behind him. "Unfortunately, the warning came too late . . ."

"But what of Kefira?" a new voice asked, as a middle-aged woman stepped forward out of the crowd. "No one has seen her in months. If she is truly to be the Sultan's wife and she is being held at the palace . . ."

Vijay's head snapped up sharply. "Where did you hear that?" he demanded.

"The Lady Neela announced the impending marriage this morning," Nasim's father replied. "She claimed the girl was in seclusion. Was she in this house?"

"No," Vijay responded flatly, thinking quickly. Neela had said nothing to him of the marriage announcement. If what Rajeev had said about the feelings between his middle daughter and the young Sultan were true, there was no doubt this announcement would bring Hadji Singh back here at the earliest opportunity. He had to be stopped . . . before it was too late. He looked at the man in front of him once again. "It is vital that I find a telephone. Do you know where the closest one is?"

The man hesitated, searching Vijay's face. What he saw there, Vijay would never know, but after a moment, he gestured and said, "There is one in the village. Follow me."

They made a hasty trip on foot to a village about two miles away. By the time they reached there, it was already dark. The man led Vijay to a small building that served as a general store, post office and meeting place. Vijay did not hesitate as he entered the building and spotted the phone on the back wall. Crossing to it swiftly, he was dialing before he even had the phone to his ear. Long moments passed as the circuits clicked and the connection was made. Finally, with one final loud click, the phone began to ring. The third ring was cut off abruptly and a familiar voice said,

"This is Hadji Singh. I am unavailable to take your call right now, but if you will leave your name and a number where you can be reached, I will return your call as soon as I can." Vijay swore as the long tone heralded the activation of the machine.

"Excellency, this is Vijay Patel. Events have occurred that I MUST discuss with you immediately. I will remain at this number for as long as I can . . . " He rattled off the number on the phone. "If I must leave before you can call, I will leave word with someone here on how I may be reached. This is urgent, Excellency. Call me as soon as possible. Do **not** attempt to return here without contacting me first. This is of utmost importance. And whatever you do, Excellency, do **NOT** attempt to call the Palace. Telephone lines are not secure there." He broke the connection and then stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He had two other numbers that the Sultan had given him to use in an emergency. He did not know who they would reach, but he could only assume that whoever they were, they were people the Sultan trusted. After a moment's further hesitation, he began dialing once more. After what seemed to be an endless wait, the connection was made and an achingly familiar voice answered.

"Hello. You have reached the number of Kefira Subramanian at Columbia University. I am not in just now, but please leave a message and I will be happy to return your call when I get home." Swearing under his breath, Vijay quickly left a similar message on Kefira's machine as he had left on Hadji's. Putting the receiver back into its cradle, he turned and faced Kumar once more.

"The Regent must be warned of what has happened and, if possible, I must get her out of the Palace and to safety. Someone must wait here in case the Sultan calls back so that he can be warned. Can I rely on you to do this, Tarang?"

"What shall I say to him if he calls?"

"Tell him what has transpired here, and tell him that Rajeev's dying message to him was that it is vital that he not return to Bangalore just yet. Will you do this?"

Slowly the man nodded. "I will do as you ask. But you . . . what will you do?"

Vijay sighed. "I must return to the task set for me. Rajeev, with his last breath, asked me to protect the Sultan. I have no choice. I must return to the Palace."

Tarang said slowly. "Our friend, Rajeev, has not given you an easy task. I believe you will need his grace if you truly plan to face the vipers that reside there once more." The man hesitated and Vijay lifted a questioning eyebrow. Slowly, Tarang asked, "Can you tell me one thing, Mr. Patel?"

"I will try. What is it that you want to know?"

"Is what the Palace announced true?"

Vijay looked confused. "What? I do not understand."

"About Kefira Subramanian . . . Rajeev's daughter. Is it true about her being betrothed to the Sultan?"

Vijay hesitated and then figured it was too late to try to cover it up now. "Yes."

Kumar looked disturbed. "She was supposed to be in seclusion in her father's house . . . to be preserved to be the Sultan's wife. And yet you say with absolute certainty that she was not lost here. Where is she, Mr. Patel?"

"She is in the United States, out of reach of the Sultan's enemies, attending school."

"But what of . . ."

"Mr. Kumar, today is a new age. Ms. Subramanian is in the United States . . . with the Sultan's blessing and encouragement, sheltered by the Sultan's American father . . . even though he has selected her to be his wife. The world has changed. It is time that Bangalore does the same."

For a long time, Kumar stared at him. Slowly, he nodded. "It is true that times are much different than in the past."

"He loves her, Tarang. Rajeev himself was astonished at the depth of feeling between them. Do we have the right to judge what is right and wrong where love is concerned?"

Once more, Kumar nodded. "Only time will tell. I will await the Sultan's call. Go with God, Mr. Patel."

Vijay nodded and turned away. He hoped fervently that Kumar's good will would accompany him, because he suspected he would need all the help he could get.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


It was almost ten p.m. by the time Vijay returned to the Royal Palace in Bangalore City. He was exhausted and depressed and a slow, burning anger curdled his stomach. What should have been an easy, two-hour trip had turned into a nightmare. Word of Rajeev Subramanian's death had spread like a plague, igniting a fury among the rural populace that had exploded into violence. Farmers, miners, and the destitute poor roamed the countryside, armed with whatever weapons they could find, searching for an outlet for their anger. An outpost of the Royal Guard on the edge of the Subramanian lands had been attacked by a maddened horde. About a dozen villagers died - casualties of the melee. But the soldiers that were killed suffered a much more brutal fate. They were savagely beaten until they were all but unrecognizable and then their bodies were hastily hung from a nearby tree - left on display as a crude message of defiance. Vijay was stopped and threatened several times by the roving bands, and was saved from suffering the same fate as those soldiers only by his well-known alliance with the Subramanian family.

In fact, he owed his life to one such mob, if only accidentally. He had been stopped by a troop of Janissaries and was about to be pulled from his car when a group of villagers descended on them. Vijay was quickly forgotten in the ensuing riot. The fighting was swift and brutal and in the end, close to 30 men were dead . . . including all of the Janissaries who had stopped him. Vijay was finally forced to abandon his car and take to the countryside as he neared the city. The enraged masses had not reached that far yet, but armed bands of the Royal Guard monitored all roads into the city and Vijay knew that if he had any hope of reaching Neela and getting her away, he needed to reach the Palace undetected.

He was able to find his way back to the old Pilgrim's Trail and made his way carefully to the postern door at the rear of the palace. Shouting and the clash of weapons sounded clearly from either side of the palace as guardsmen drilled and kept watch on the main thoroughfares to the Palace. But as yet, the entrances that nestled against the mountains were quiet. He had re-entered the palace and was making his way cautiously along a dim, seldom-used corridor, searching for the entrance to the secret passages, when the sound of marching feet and harsh voices reached him. In the echoing stone corridors, it was difficult to tell how many men were approaching, but it sounded like a full detachment. He looked around wildly, trying to find a place to hide, but there was no safe place in sight. He turned, prepared to make a run for the back door once more, when the stone wall behind him suddenly opened silently and a hand snatched at his tunic and dragged him into darkness. The wall closed in front of him as a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. Through the false wall, he heard the clash of weapons as the soldiers turned the corner and pushed past the place he had stood only moments before. Then a brusque voice commanded,

"Secure the old door and post a guard inside, but do not allow anyone approaching from outside to know you are there. We want to learn of anyone who has knowledge of this passage."

The hand in his tunic yanked sharply, making the intent of leaving this place clear. Vijay didn't hesitate. He turned and stumbled willingly in the direction indicated, groping blindly in the near total darkness of the passages, as the overheard sounds faded away. Finally, the hand indicated he should stop and suddenly he felt fresh air fan his face. Then he was pushed forward once more and he stepped out of the stuffy, black corridors into the relatively brighter dimness of a darkened room. Vijay shielded his eyes against a sudden flare of fire, but when he peered cautiously through his fingers, the blazing light had steadied into the warm gleam of an oil lamp. His savior was revealed as he saw Neela Singh set the lamp down onto a filthy ledge and turn to him.

"Is this place secure?" he questioned her in a hoarse whisper, gazing around in confusion. The space they were in appeared to be a small room . . . perhaps that of a servant or a small child. But it was filthy, covered in cobwebs, and seemed to have been abandoned centuries before. Furniture still cluttered the room, but it was old and uncared for. The wood of the divans along the wall had darkened and dried and the fabrics that had once covered the seats were moth-eaten.

"We are safe here for now," Neela replied, staring at him intently. "We are deep in the oldest area of the Palace. Many of these rooms have not been used in 150 years and the access to these sections has been walled off. We will not be followed or found here. Now, tell me what has happened."

Vijay shook his head. "In a moment. First, what has happened here? The men in the hall . . . who are they loyal to?"

"I do not know for certain," Neela replied in frustration. "They wear the uniforms of the Palace Guard, however I do not know any of the men I have seen today."

"Then we must assume their loyalties do not lie with the Sultan. Are there more men than usual?"

"Yes, many more! I even searched for the Captain of the Guard late this afternoon to find out why, but was unable to locate him."

Vijay frowned. "He was loyal and now he is missing. That is not good. What about your announcement of the Sultan's engagement to Kefira Subramanian this morning?"

"**What????**" Neela sputtered in shock. "I did no such thing! I would not go against my son's wishes in this matter!"

"Someone has done so," Vijay told her grimly. "It came as an official announcement from the Palace and you are the one quoted."

Neela looked stunned and more than a little sick. "This will bring him back here," she muttered. "He will know that tradition states that if he does not return to answer the accusations that are sure to follow when they find out Kefira is not here, her family's lives will be forfeit."

"I am certain that was the point," Vijay replied. He gazed at her steadily for a long moment before he said softly, "But there are no lives left to forfeit."

Neela had been staring vacantly at the far wall. Now, her head jerked around sharply and she stared at him in shock once more. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

"They are already dead, Excellency. I arrived too late."

"No," she whispered hoarsely. She wavered on her feet for a moment and then sank abruptly onto one of the divans. Dust rose around her like a cloud. "How?"

"Rajeev and Anila were shot," he replied. "I found them in front of the house when I arrived. They had been left to lie where they died."

She looked up at him. "And the children?"

"Excellency . . ." he began hesitantly, not wishing to recount that particular horror.

"Where are the children?" she demanded relentlessly. A feverish light had lit in her eyes and Vijay knew that if he did not answer that she would order him to do so.

"They were in the house," he replied reluctantly," . . . along with all of the other children from the household staff and many from the surrounding countryside. Rajeev and Anila insisted that they spend the afternoons with a tutor learning to read and write . . ."

"And where are they now?"

Vijay's eyes locked with hers as he answered gravely, "The Janissaries set fire to the house."

"No!" Neela went whiter than the sari she wore, and for an instant, he thought she might collapse. But the moment passed and when she looked up at him again, her expression was fixed in a countenance so grim he unconsciously moved back from her a step.

"What of his eldest son?" she asked, her voice remote.

Vijay shook his head. "I was waylaid on the road by a band of Janissaries. They were laughing about Rajeev's death. They claim that they overran Sumant and his family before they even realized what was happening."

"So he destroyed the entire family," Neela said softly, in that same cold, remote tone.

"As far as I know, the only two left are Kefira and her elder sister, Daria."

"That one!" Neela spat in disgust. "Worthless creature . . . empty-headed and vain."

"And married into the Rajiq family . . . who are firmly loyal to Birla."

Neela stood once more and faced him squarely. "Did Arun Birla do this?"

Vijay hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"You are certain."

"Yes. Rajeev was alive . . . barely . . . when I found him. He identified his attacker."

"Was there anyone else?" Vijay shook his head. "So you are saying we cannot prove that he did this."

"There is a boy," Vijay said cautiously.

"What boy?" Neela demanded harshly.

"His name is Nasim and he worked as the stable boy for the Subramanian family. His father was Rajeev's oversight foreman in his mining operations. The boy claims he saw the man who commanded the band of Janissaries. He did not know the man's name, but claimed he would know him again if he saw him."

Neela turned away and began to pace. "We need that boy. If the he can identify his attacker as Birla, we have grounds to remove him from the Council and . . ."

"I am afraid it is already too late for that, Excellency."

"Bangalore cannot survive despots like Vikram and Deepak again, Mr. Patel," Neela began. "It cannot be allowed to happen . . ."

Vijay smiled grimly. "It will not. Birla expects to sweep in much as Deepak did, using the Janissaries and their ruthless tactics to subdue the people. He believes that they will bow to his will much as they did before. But in this he has miscalculated."

"In what way?" she demanded.

"He has underestimated the Sultan. Birla understands greed and the desire for power, and he judges others, expecting them to want the same things. But the Sultan has never desired power. Quite the opposite . . . he has held power for the last five years and has spent the entire time working to prepare the people for the day when Bangalore would have no Sultan." Neela's wordless exclamation caused Vijay to shake his head at her. "Your son does not wish to rule, Lady. Surely you have realized that by this time. In his very being, he believes that the people have the right to govern themselves. You can hardly blame him. The time he has spent in Bangalore and India in his short life largely have not been good experiences. Plus, his truly formative years were spent being raised in America, a country that defends its people's right to self-government fiercely. He has also traveled extensively and has seen examples of all forms of government . . . both good and bad . . . so he is neither naïve nor inexperienced. All of the programs that Birla has thought so pointless . . . expanded education, availability of computers to the poorest of our people, government social programs, innovative programs in farming, industry and social service, the funding of higher education outside the country for our best and brightest . . . it all had one purpose. To open the eyes of the common people to the possibilities the future offered to them, their children, and their grandchildren."

"Yes, yes, I understand that. Hadji has explained it often enough. But what good does it do if . . ."

Vijay cut her off. "Tell me, Lady, what did the people in the countryside do when Deepak overthrew and murdered your husband?"

She looked at him in exasperation. "What could they do? Deepak controlled the Janissaries. He would have slaughtered them wholesale given the slightest provocation. They went about their lives as best as they could and they endured. That is why this cannot be allowed to happen!"

"Exactly," Vijay agreed. "Do you know what the people do today, Excellency? They _fight_. The Sultan has shown them that there is a chance for a better life if they follow him. He has given them land and money and the knowledge necessary to make that happen and so they follow him. "The **_people_** are loyal, Excellency, even if some of the old wealthy families are not. And they greatly outnumber those that follow Birla. The people will fight to the last man for the Sultan because the Sultan has proven to them that he has their best interests foremost in his thoughts. Birla does not understand this and, in the end, it will be his undoing."

Neela stared at the young man in front of her for a long time. Finally, in a flat voice, she said, "My son planned this."

"No," Vijay corrected her. "He did everything in his power to prevent this. He has systematically undermined the old alliances that fought to keep the traditional ways in place, and he has replaced many of those men who held positions of power with ones that he trusts and who share his goals. He plays Palace politics very well, Excellency, and in most cases the people involved rarely know he is doing so. Birla was the last man of any real power remaining. I do not know if he finally recognized what the Sultan was doing, or if he simply got tired of waiting. Personally, I believe it is probably the latter. Birla is too arrogant and self-centered to recognize the moves the Sultan made. I also believe that the situation exploded on him unexpectedly."

Neela had been watching her companion carefully as he spoke. "In what way?" she questioned.

"I believe Birla _was_ the man who led the Janissaries today, but I do not believe he went there to kill Rajeev Subramanian. Birla may be blinded by the desire for power, but he is not stupid. The time he spent as Bangalore's representative to the Indian government taught him that it does not pay to alienate his neighbors. If his intent had been to kill Rajeev, he would not have gone personally because he would know that he could ill afford to be directly linked to such an action . . . particularly in light of the now-public planned alliance between the two families. I believe his intent was exactly as he voiced it to you . . . to bring the entire Subramanian family to the Palace to use as leverage to draw the Sultan and his prospective wife back to this country."

"Could Mr. Subrmanian have triggered this in some way?"

Vijay shook his head. "It is unlikely. Rajeev would not have risked his wife or children in a violent confrontation . . . not when he knew that it would take time for the Sultan to be drawn back. He would have agreed to what Birla wanted, playing for time. We may never know what precipitated the violence, Lady. But I do believe that Rajeev's dying words to me were correct . . . war is upon us, whether we like it or not, and we must turn our attention to the safety of the Sultan and the best interests of our people."

"Hadji!" Neela exclaimed, whirling away to begin pacing once more. "If what you say is true about the announcement of his betrothal, he could already be on his way back here. He must be warned!"

"I attempted to do so very soon after Rajeev's death. I could not reach him personally, but was able to leave a message on both his answering machine and that of Ms. Subramanian. I told him to call back . . ."

"Not here!"

"No, not here. I specifically warned him that the Palace telephones are not secure. The number I left was to a local village near the Subramanian home. A man that can be trusted is waiting there for his call with a warning message."

"Did you try the Quest Compound?"

"I have a third number, but I do not know whom it belongs to and do not have it memorized. I have only had the need to call the Sultan twice since he named me to the Council a year ago. Normally, he contacts me."

Neela chewed her lip thoughtfully. "The other number must be that of Quest Compound. But I hesitate to try to call that one. For one thing, we have no idea which phones we can trust and which ones we cannot. And for another, I know that Benton Quest has been ill. Hadji will not appreciate it if we stress Dr. Quest further by alerting him that there are problems here that could be a danger to his adopted son. No, if Hadji is still in the United States, he will get the message you left for him. And if he has already left for Bangalore, then alerting the Quests will be of no use."

"What do we do then?"

Neela turned to gaze at him again. "We gather as much information as we can, we try to get the people loyal to my son to safety, and we wait for direction from the Sultan. I do not believe we have any other choice." 


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

  
  


Although it was just after 11:00 p.m. on Saturday night when the phone rang at Barbara Mason's house, she was not asleep . . . in fact, she was a long way from it. She was seated at her dining room table, books, papers, and medical journals littering the surface, with discard stacks on the floor in an arc all around her chair. Lines of exhaustion were etched on her face and there was a sense of desperation in the way she tossed the book she had been reading onto the stack beside her. The phone had interrupted her just as she was reaching for the next one, and she contemplated letting the machine pick it up, but then thought better of it. If someone was calling this late, it must be important. She rose hastily and waded through the clutter, picking up the phone on the secretary near the entryway door as it began its fourth ring.

"Dr. Mason."

"Mason?" a voice on the other end said hesitantly. "I was trying to reach a Bradford Manson. At least, I think that's what this says . . ." The voice had a decidedly British accent.

"Dr. Burroughs?" Barbara questioned hopefully. "Dr. William Burroughs from the Public Health Service Laboratory in Devon, England?"

"Well, whether this note says Manson or Mason, I believe I've reached the right person," the man replied, sounding much more sure of himself this time. "Yes, this is William Burroughs. And I take it you are the person who has been leaving frantic messages for me everywhere."

"Yes, I am," Barbara agreed. "I'm extremely grateful that you called. I know you weren't due back until late today."

"Just got in, as a matter of fact. But when I found written notes from three different people tacked to my front door and two messages on my home answering machine, including one from the medical school dean himself, telling me I needed to phone this number as soon as possible, I thought that perhaps I should make the effort. Now, what can a British ex-public servant do for a physician in the United States?"

"You can tell me everything you know about an incident that happened about five years ago in a small community in Devon known as Wychford."

The empty hum of the open phone line sounded loud in the resulting silence. Finally, Burroughs replied cautiously, "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. What exactly happened? What were the physical manifestations on the patient? Were there any lingering aftereffects? If so, how long did they take to manifest? How did you treat them? How long did they persist? _Anything_ you can tell me would help."

"May I ask what has triggered your interest in those events?"

"I have a patient who was there at the time and he's . . ."

"That's not possible," Burroughs said flatly.

"I assure you, Dr. Burroughs, I'm not making it up," Barbara replied stiffly, her weariness causing her to sound more harsh than she intended.

The protracted silence hummed between them for another long moment. Finally, Burroughs replied, "Tell me what you already know."

With an effort, Barbara controlled her impatience, as well as a growing sense of dread, and replied, "I know that my patient and his son were in Devon for a driving and fishing vacation in the fall five years ago. I know that an auto accident of some sort landed them in Wychford where they ended up staying while their vehicle was repaired. I know that a man by the name of Smallwood was a practitioner there and that he had been experimenting with some sort of microcomputer chip that, when implanted at the base of the skull, could be used to control behavior. I know that he enlisted the aid of a local businessman to manufacture the chips and that he used the population of the village as lab rats to test them. I also know that the businessman knew enough about how the chips were created to add a variation of his own which made them capable of turning the control population from placid and friendly into a ravening, murderous mob. What I do **not** know, is what happened to the test subjects in the years following the destruction of the project. I need answers, Dr. Burroughs, and I get the feeling I may be running out of time."

"There were rumors among the villagers of two tourists who had been in the area at the time of the incident," Burroughs mused slowly, "but we never knew if the story was true. The memories of the villagers were distorted by the effects of the chip and what they remembered was extremely unreliable. When no one else turned up sick, we assumed that either they weren't there or weren't affected. But it really doesn't matter. Your patient wouldn't have been affected unless he actually had one of the chips implanted, and if that were the case . . ."

"He did."

"_WHAT?_ You're sure? And he's still alive?"

"What do you mean, 'still alive'?" Barbara demanded, feeling her chest tighten sharply.

"Dr. Mason, everyone in Wychford . . . everyone we ever knew of that had one of those chips . . . is dead. The majority of them died within a year of the closure of the project. We lost the last one about six months ago."

"No," Barbara whispered, as her knees gave way and she sank slowly to the floor. "How?"

"We were never able to figure out what was going on. The only thing we finally thought we were sure of was that the severity and speed of onset of the symptoms seemed to be tied to how long the patient had been wearing the chip and how often the violent transition from calm to manic had occurred. Also, some of the chips had been malfunctioning. Those people who had worn a chip that had malfunctioned and were fitted with new ones were the first to exhibit symptoms and the first to die. But even those people who hadn't worn them very long and who hadn't experienced the forced behavioral change eventually died. The children lasted the longest, and the last to die was a nine-year-old girl. All of the other members of her family died early on. Why she was able to hang on so much longer, we never could determine. In the end, we lost them all before we were able to find a way to stop it . . . all but your patient, apparently. You're absolutely certain he had one of those chips?"

"Yes," she replied with difficulty. "He had it for less than eight hours, but there was no doubt he was fitted with one. If you look closely, you can still see the scars on the back of his neck."

"Do you know if he was ever subjected to the transition?"

"Yes, he was. Only once, but . . ." she swallowed hard. "They turned him loose on his son . . . along with the rest of the population of Wychford. The boy had figured out what was going on and was trying to pull the plug. My patient was still in the crazed state when his son managed to get the chip off of him."

"Oh lord," Burroughs breathed. "Dr. Mason, I'm sorry . . ."

"The symptoms . . . " she half-sobbed. "What were the symptoms? Maybe that's not what I'm dealing with . . ."

"Anxiety and changes in behavior patterns were the earliest signs," Burroughs replied. Barbara could hear the pity in his voice now. "Volatile mood swings came next, along with the onset of unexplained weakness. Then, headaches and blurred vision, dizziness, blackouts, and eventually, total collapse, coma, and death. There were never any indicators that showed up in lab tests so we could never find anything to treat. It just moved forward like a steamroller and all we could do was watch helplessly as it ran it course."

"Life support?"

She could almost hear him shrug. "You can keep the body alive. Whatever was going on didn't seem to damage body tissue. But ultimately the brain shuts down as well, and once that happens . . ." He trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging. There really wasn't anything else to say.

"Your clinical notes . . . can I have what little you came up with?" she asked numbly.

"Of course. I kept all of my notes and I have them here. I'll overnight copies of them to you first thing tomorrow morning. I'll also contact my colleagues in the District Office of the Public Health Service Laboratory in Britain and ask them to send out copies of everything they have immediately."

"I . . . please . . . if it's not too much to ask . . . can you fax them to me? At least the clinical summaries? I'll be happy to reimburse you for the costs . . ."

"Do you have an e-mail address? My notes are in electronic form and I can e-mail them to you."

Barbara stared numbly at the brand new computer system that Race had installed earlier that day. "Yes. The . . . the address is bmason@quest.com."

"Do you have any file size limitations?"

"No."

"I'll start sending the files immediately and will ask the BPHS to do the same. They can handle electronic data transfer, as well." Burroughs hesitated, and then added gently, "I'm so very sorry, Dr. Mason. It sounds as though this patient is someone very special."

"We are a small, close-knit community, Dr. Burroughs," Barbara replied in a dead voice. "The loss of any member of it . . . particularly one as young and vital as this man . . . is a blow to us all."

"Of course. I'll get those records out to you right away. I wish you luck . . . maybe you can find the key that we couldn't."

"Thank you." Blindly, she fumbled the receiver back into its cradle and then sat on the floor, crying helplessly.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

  


"Who the hell gave you the right to screen my mail and phone calls?" Benton yelled. He glared furiously at Race Bannon, as the younger man lounged comfortably in his chair at the breakfast table and looked back at him calmly. When he didn't reply immediately, Benton became even more furious. "Well? Your job does not . . ."

"My _job_," Race said coldly, "is to ensure your safety and well-being. It always has been. I diverted your mail and the incoming phone calls because all indications say that the problems you're having are tied to stress and that it should be minimized. There was a bunch of crap coming through at the time and the sheer volume of it was enough to drive a healthy man crazy. I simply pre-screened it and got rid of the junk."

"I don't want you . . ." Benton's voice rose even more and an angry flush suffused his face. Race let him get no further.

"Keep it down!" he commanded sharply. "You keep yelling like that and you'll have Estella out of bed and trying to get down those stairs on her own to find out what's going on." As Race expected, the reminder that Estella wasn't well was enough to calm Benton's temper somewhat.

"All right," he said begrudgingly. "But don't you dare do this again."

"Sit down and eat your breakfast," Race ordered just as IRIS announced,

"MR. BANNON, DR. VELASQUEZ-BANNON IS ASKING FOR YOU."

"Damn!" Race muttered, scowling at Benton. The older man had the grace to look chagrined as Race rose and headed for the stairs. He returned a few minutes later looking disgruntled. He sat down again, giving the other man a sour look. "Do me a favor, Benton. If you insist on yelling at one of the kids or me, would you _please_ try to do it out of my wife's hearing? She's got enough problems as it is. She doesn't need the added stress of listening to us fight."

Benton sighed. "I'm sorry, Race. I didn't mean to lose my temper. I don't know what's wrong with me recently."

"Forget it."

After a few moments of silence, Benton asked, "So what is it you've been trying to hide from me?"

"What you do mean, hide?" Race hedged.

"You don't do things like intercept my e-mail and screen my calls . . . not unless you're trying to keep something from me. Out with it. You know that if you don't tell me, I'll just go looking until I figure it out for myself."

Race sighed in defeat. "You would, too. All right, just try not to get wound up about this, okay? It may just be a tempest in a teapot."

"Wound up about what?" Benton demanded irritably. "If you're trying to save me from stress, this isn't the way to do it!"

Race shook his head. "I can't win. Okay, look, the situation is heating up in Bangalore."

"Heating up how?"

"There's reports of unrest and some unconfirmed fighting in the rural areas. News is sketchy and the routine sources of information seem to be drying up. Also . . ." Race hesitated, causing Benton to glare at him once more. With another sigh, he continued, "Also, the Royal Palace officially announced Hadji's betrothal to Kefira. Most of the mail I filtered were congratulatory messages."

"Hadji announced his engagement?" Benton's hurt expression told Race he had been right about the way he would take this news.

"No, Benton, I don't think he did," the younger man consoled. "I think that someone at the Palace is playing politics and that it's a -"

"EXCUSE ME, DR. QUEST . . . MR. BANNON . . . BUT THERE IS AN INCOMING CALL FOR DR. QUEST FROM ADMIRAL BENNETT. DO YOU WISH TO TAKE THIS CALL OR SHALL I REQUEST THAT ADMIRAL BENNETT LEAVE A MESSAGE?"

Benton and Race exchanged a look. Then Benton rose, saying, "No, IRIS, I'll take it. Tell Admiral Bennett I'll be right with him and then route the call via vid phone to the big monitor in the study."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

"Here, Benton, have some more coffee," Race said holding out the pot. He refilled both of their cups, and then said, "Come on, let's go see what he wants."

The two men walked briskly back to the study and settled comfortably into the high wing-backed chairs in the reading area, facing the view screen. Then Benton directed, "Okay, IRIS, put it through." The large monitor on the nearby wall flared and then steadied to show an image of Admiral Charles Bennett. He was dressed in uniform and appeared to be sitting in his Pentagon office. "Good morning, Admiral," Benton said cheerfully. "How are you this morning?"

"Very well, Dr. Quest, thank you. Good morning, Race."

"Admiral."

"I understand congratulations are in order."

The younger man raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I just heard that you and Estella are expecting again." Bennett grinned. "Nothing like starting over. When's the baby due?"

Race looked resigned. "You have no idea how often I hear that comment. Doctor's saying mid-January, although I suspect that Estella won't object too much if it comes early. She's seriously tired of being pregnant!"

Bennett chuckled. "I don't envy you the job of keeping track of her. As I recall, she was a real live wire. Boy or a girl?"

"We haven't asked. As long as it's healthy, we don't really care."

"Well, I wish you both luck. You have more nerve than I do."

All three men laughed at that and then Benton asked, "So what can we do for you this morning, Admiral?"

Bennett sobered abruptly. "Actually, it's more what I can do for you. I don't suppose that Mr. Singh is anywhere around, is he?"

"No," Benton replied. "He's in school in New York."

Bennett nodded, looking a bit unhappy. "I thought he might be. I'm sure he's got his own sources that are better than mine, but it never hurts to be sure. Information coming out of Bangalore and all of northeastern India . . . Nepal, Kashmir, and that entire area . . . has been sketchy and unreliable recently, but I got some news today that I know is trustworthy and I thought I would pass it on just in case he hasn't heard it."

"Go ahead," Benton invited. "We can reach him and we'll be sure he hears it."

Bennett hesitated for minute and then shrugged. "We have an undercover man who normally works that region. He disappeared about a month ago. Last night he resurfaced. He'd made a trip into Bangalore to see if he could find out what's going on there. He says that the situation is reaching crisis proportions. Do you know what I'm talking about when I refer to the Janissaries?"

"Yes," Race answered immediately. "Mercenary soldiers used by some of the ruling Sultans in the Middle and Far East in the last century. The class is still around, although it's pretty much been disbanded as an active fighting force."

"Exactly. The last ruler to actively use the Janissary was Vikram Singh in Bangalore."

Race nodded. "Hadji said that Vikram used them . . . pretty ruthlessly, too. They were the fighting force that kept Vikram and his father, Deepak, in power. Hadji banned them from the country when he became Sultan."

"Well, it appears that someone in Bangalore is supporting their rise again. There are confirmed incidents of attacks on rural villages by Janissary troops. There's also definitely been street fighting in Bangalore City. I thought if Hadji hasn't heard about this, that he probably should."

Suddenly, IRIS interrupted. "EXCUSE ME, DR. QUEST, BUT DR. BARBARA MASON HAS JUST ENTERED THE COMPOUND THROUGH THE MAIN GATE."

Benton looked at Race in surprise. "Was Barbara due out here today?" he asked.

Race nodded. "Yes. Estella's due for her weekly exam and it's easier for Barbara if she does it here on Saturday or Sunday, since she doesn't have office hours."

"Okay," Benton said agreeably. "When she reaches the house, just let her in IRIS. She knows where to find Estella. You can tell her we'll see her when we finish here."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

Both Benton and Race turned to Bennett again, taking up where they left off with grim looks. "Yes, he definitely should know about this," Benton agreed. "We'll call him today and make sure he's aware of it."

Bennett hesitated again, and at Benton's questioning look, he said reluctantly, "I think I would suggest to him, Dr. Quest, that now is probably not the time for him to return to Bangalore. Ethan's operative says this has all of the earmarks of a political coup in the making and I don't know that it's particularly safe for him to be in country right now."

"We'll tell him," Benton replied calmly, but Race could see the way he tensed up. Bennett nodded and, wishing them a good day, broke the connection. The two men sat quietly for a time, Benton wrapped up in his own thoughts and Race watching him carefully. Finally, Benton sighed softly and said, "IRIS, put a call through to Hadji for me, please." He glanced over at Race. "I doubt he'll be there . . . not at this time of day . . . but we probably should at least leave the message for him so he gets it as soon as possible."

"He might be. It is Sunday." But the answering machine picked up almost immediately. After a leaving a brief message summarizing Bennett's warning, Benton asked IRIS to put a call through to Jonny. Race looked at him in surprise. "I noticed that the boys have been spending some time together recently," Benton explained. "I thought Hadji might be at Jonny's."

In the middle of the second ring, the connection was made and Jessie's voice said, "Hello?"

Race could feel the momentary hesitation before Benton said quietly, "Hello, Jessie. It's Dr. Quest."

There was dead silence for the space of two heartbeats and then she replied. "Good morning, Dr. Quest." There was that fractional pause again and then she continued, "Is there something I can do for you?" There was no sign of anger, but her tone was distant and cool, carrying about as much emotion as IRIS' did.

Benton's face was carefully blank and his tone was neutral as he said, "I was wondering if I could talk to Jonny for a moment."

"I'm afraid he's not here. I'd be happy to take a message and have him call you back when he gets home." From the background both men heard an indistinct voice ask Jessie a question.

Benton's voice sharpened just slightly. "Is that Kefira? Are she and Hadji there?"

"Kefira's here," Jessie acknowledged in the same cool, impersonal tone. "Hadji's out with Jonny."

"May I talk with Kefira please?"

"Certainly. Just one moment."

Race felt his gut clench painfully. He hated this! There was a time when Benton would have talked with whichever one of the kids he'd reached. Now, he would speak with Jessie only when forced into it. For a long time, Jessie had tried desperately to break down the wall Benton had erected between them, but from the sound of it, those days were over. Race knew his daughter too well. The tone might be cool and neutrally pleasant, but he could still hear the anger that simmered under it. Jessie had her mother's hot temper and he knew from experience that it could erupt swiftly. Generally, the explosion would blow over quickly and then it was done. But on occasion, it went deeper. In those instances, anger turned to deep-seated fury that could seethe for years. Jessica Bannon was more than capable of holding a grudge . . . and Race wondered if maybe Benton's recent behavior had finally triggered one.

"Hello, Kefira. This is Dr. Quest. Is Jonny or Hadji there?"

Race rose abruptly and walked across the room, turning his back on the conversation as Benton acknowledged Kefira's confirmation that neither of the two young men were at home. Now Race was the one starting to get angry. Benton might be pissed off at his daughter, but to openly imply that he questioned her honesty was something else again. He sat down at the computer at Benton's desk and tried to shut out the conversation going on across the room. Race could hear the older man passing on Bennett's warning about the situation in Bangalore and decided to do some searching on his own. Trying to funnel his own anger into something productive, Race directed his energies toward trying to find any news he could on the situation on the northern Indian border.

"What are you doing?" Benton's voice demanded some minutes later, pulling Race's attention back to his companion. His glance flicked up to Benton's face and back to the screen in front of him.

"Research," he replied briefly.

"Kefira could have used your evaluation of the situation," Benton said irritability.

"You seemed to be doing just fine without my assistance."

"What the hell are you so touchy about?"

This time there was no hiding the anger Race was feeling. "Why don't you just drop it?" he said coldly.

"Sure . . . why not!" Benton snarled. "Everyone in this family seems determined to cop an attitude these days. Why should you be any different?!"

"If there is anyone in this family that has been copping an attitude lately, it's _you_," Race snapped back. "So don't jump down my throat about my attitude. And don't expect me to sit there and listen to you question my daughter's integrity and honesty."

"Well, do you blame me for not trusting her when she tells me that my son isn't there? After her comments of the other day . . ."

"And who precipitated that whole . . ."

"_**STOP IT!!!**_" Both men whirled at the sound of the new voice that cut across their escalating argument. Barbara stood in the doorway to the study supporting Estella who was scowling at both of them fiercely. "I am getting so _sick_ of hearing people fighting in his house. Both of you, just _**shut**_ _**up**_!!!"

"What are you doing up?" Race demanded, coming around the desk and pushing past Benton to reach his wife.

"Barbara needs to talk with us, and since the two of you seemed determined to squabble today, I decided to just bring the discussion to you rather than waiting until you settle down."

"Well, you talk all you like," Benton said grumpily. "I'm going out to the lighthouse."

"_**SIT DOWN!!!!**_" Estella's voice was a lash that froze Benton mid-stride. She didn't appear the least bit phased by his outraged expression. She pointed an imperious finger at the chair he'd been sitting in earlier and snapped, "Sit down, or I swear, baby or no baby, I'll come over there and plant you in it myself!"

Hazel eyes met green ones in a contest of wills until finally, Benton stalked across to the chair and threw himself into it. "Fine," he said huffily. "Then let's get it over with." He turned an unfriendly glare on Barbara as she helped Estella to a chair and then sat down herself. "What do you want now? More blood? Another pound of flesh? What?"

Barbara gazed at him for a moment before her eyes fell. Race looked at her closely for the first time and was mildly alarmed. Deep grooves between her brows emphasized her weariness and the evidence of stress was clear. Before she could say a word, Race leaned forward in concern.

"Barbara, are you all right?"

She looked up and attempted a smile. "I've had a long night," she replied quietly. Shifting her eyes to Benton once more, she swallowed with difficulty and said, "I believe I've finally identified the source of the problem you've been having, Benton."

"Well, finally," he replied sourly. Then, in another sudden reversal of mood, his expression softened and he continued, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Barbara. I know that you've been working very hard, and I really do appreciate it. We're lucky to have someone as dedicated and caring as you are looking after all of us."

Those words, sounding so much like the old Benton Quest, seemed to strike the woman harder than his angry words just moments before. Her eyes fell again and Race saw her hands clench involuntarily into fists. Beside him, he heard Estella's voice catch in her throat. "Tell us what it is, Barbara," Race said quietly. "Better to know what we're facing and hit it straight on."

She took a deep breath and looked up into Benton's face once more. "It's that damned chip . . ." Her voice broke and she cleared her throat with difficulty as Benton looked at her in confusion.

"What chip?"

"Smallwood's chip . . . the one he fitted you with five years ago in England."

"You mean that business in Wychford?" he said incredulously.

"Yes. Last night I finally connected with the man that was in charge of the health program in Devon. He coordinated the research and treatment of the people from Wychford following the Smallwood incident. He e-mailed me all of his clinical notes and research. I spent all night going through them. The symptoms you're exhibiting are classic and were documented in every person to ever be subjected to one of the things."

Benton leaned back in his chair slowly. "What kind of symptoms?" he asked quietly.

"Weakness, dizziness, blackouts, outburst of temper . . ." she paused, looking at him for a moment and then added softly, ". . . unexplained behavioral changes . . . "

"What unexplained behav-" Benton trailed off, staring at each of them in turn.

"Why did you have Jonny's admission to M.I.T. pulled?" Barbara asked him gently. "Why did you continue to push him about school and his living arrangements, even after he had made a commitment to his new employer and moved out? Why are you holding a grudge against Jessie for all of it? Why are you constantly picking fights with the various members of the family? Benton, this isn't you."

"Why haven't you said anything?" he demanded.

"We _have_," Race replied. "Time and time again."

"It's progressive, Benton," Barbara told him. "It started slowly with little things that were actually part of your natural behavior and escalated from there. We were all confused and tried to talk with you about it, but it never occurred to us that it was anything other than your struggle to come to terms with your sons growing up. It wasn't until the physical symptoms began manifesting themselves that I began to be seriously concerned." She looked away again and her tone was bitter as she added, "I should have paid closer attention . . ."

Race's sharp, "No!" and Estella's wordless exclamation of protest, were overridden by Benton's firm, "Don't talk nonsense!" He leaned forward, caught her hand in his and squeezed it. "Barbara, you have done more for us than we had any right to ask of you, and you've done it without a word of complaint. I won't allow you to blame yourself for any of this, do you understand me?" When she wouldn't look at him, he reached out and caught her chin, raising her head until their eyes met. "You are the best friend any man could ever have and I will not tolerate you blaming yourself. Are we clear?" Finally, Barbara nodded, and he smiled at her. "Good. Now, I get the distinct feeling that you aren't done yet, and what you have to say is bad news, so let's get it over with so we can move on. What's the prognosis?"

"They were never able to find a way to treat it," she said after a minute. "I've read through Dr. Burroughs' clinical summaries so many times I think I could recite them from memory. Nothing worked."

Benton frowned, leaning back in his chair again. They could all see his scientific mind taking over again. "What kind of analysis did they do?"

"Everything they could think of. Most of the patients spent an extended period of time hospitalized. They even sent many of them to large research hospitals in London and Liverpool, but they didn't have any luck identifying what was causing the problem. The only thing they were able to say for certain was that it was some sort of reaction to the chip. No one else ever got sick. There were a few people from Wychford who weren't in town at the time of the incident and never had the chips fitted, and they never showed any signs of a problem."

"An accidental control group . . . eliminating the question of environmental factors being the source of the problem," he mused. "What about the chip itself? What kind of research was done with that?"

She looked at him blankly, and Race got the distinct impression that her mind was only partially focused on his question. "I . . . I don't . . . I don't know. There was nothing in Dr. Burrough's notes about the work on the chip. But he's getting me the British notes, so maybe that will tell us something."

Benton nodded. "We need all of those records. We'll look at them again and see if we can figure out what's going on."

Estella had been watching Barbara closely and she didn't like what she was seeing. Barbara was fighting to hide it, but she was incredibly distressed . . . much more so than the situation seemed to warrant. Finally, in a quiet voice, she asked, "What aren't you telling us, Barbara?"

Barbara swallowed hard and her eyes fell once more, "I . . . I . . ." Benton leaned forward and caught her chin once more, bringing her head up until their eyes locked. "Tell me," he commanded her softly.

Sudden tears brimmed in her eyes and she caught her bottom lip in her teeth, struggling not to break down. "It was total, Benton," she finally whispered. "All of them . . . every one . . . " Her voice cracked and she closed her eyes, two tears trickling down her face.

Benton's right hand cupped her cheek gently and he wiped away a tear with his thumb. "It's all right," he said consolingly. "Just tell me."

"They all died, Benton. All of them . . . from the oldest to the youngest. They couldn't find a way to save any of them."

"What was the progression?" he questioned evenly.

"Anxiety followed by behavioral changes, then weakness and the onset of volatile mood swings, then dizziness, blackouts and increased weakness in the extremities, coma, and finally death."

"What kind of timeline?"

She shook her head, freeing herself from his grip. "If there was a pattern, they couldn't find it. The earliest to die was a 35-year-old man about four months after the destruction of the project. From onset of symptoms to death was less than a month. The last to die was a nine-year-old girl who showed absolutely no sign of a problem for four years, then exhibited symptoms for close to a year before she finally succumbed. They tried everything. Nothing . . ." At that point, her voice cracked again and she simply couldn't go on.

The resulting silence was heavy, as Benton contemplated that prospect. Finally, he looked up at his best friend with a quiet resolve. A small smile touched his lips and Race saw humor reflected in that gaze. "It seems I have a new challenge," he told the other man.

"Benton . . ." Race said with difficulty, putting his arm around his wife as she turned her face into his shoulder with a soft sob.

Benton looked from one of them to the other. Finally, he rose and went to put his arm around Barbara as she sat huddled in the big wing chair. "Hey," he said to her, "you've fought for months to make me believe there was a problem and get me to do something about it. After all that time, we finally know what the problem is. Don't give up on me now."

As she looked up at him, he saw her fighting to rekindle the hope that had been extinguished through a long night of cold, clinical reports and the frustrated notations of doctors faced with a disorder that ultimately defeated their every effort to save their dying patients. She sniffed and used her fingers to wipe her eyes, trying to stop the tears that still threatened to overwhelm her. Finally, she nodded. "I'm all right," she said hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

He smiled at her. "You've been working too hard and not getting enough sleep. That's exactly what you're always lecturing me about. Now it's my turn. Estella needs to go back to bed and so do you. I would like it very much if you would take her upstairs and see her safely back into bed and then find yourself a place to lie down and sleep. I don't care where . . . you can use one of the kid's rooms or you can lie down in mine. Just get some rest. In the meantime, Race is going to take your keys, go to your house, and transfer all of the records here so we can start working with IRIS on analysis." His arm tightened affectionately. "We'll beat this, Barbara. I'm not ready to die yet and I have no intention of doing so. I promise." Slowly, Barbara nodded and rose unsteadily to her feet. "Can you and Estella manage?"

"Yes," she replied, and turned toward the other woman who was rising to her feet with Race's assistance. Taking Estella's arm, the two of the moved slowly from the study, leaving Benton and Race alone once more.

"We have to find a way to beat this, Benton," Race said quietly. "I won't see you die because of Smallwood and his idiocy."

"I don't intend to, old friend. Every problem has a solution and I mean to find the answer to this one. Can you manage to get the records from Barbara's place?"

"I'm guessing we won't need to," Race replied, turning to the computer on the desk. "Barbara's e-mail account, both for the office and home is based on the Quest mainframe. She's not overly computer literate and I'm guessing she didn't download the stuff off of the e-mail system . . . she simply opened it and printed what was there."

Benton looked at him in surprise. "Her account is based here? Since when?"

"Since you got sick," Race replied. "She didn't have computer access and I needed an easy way for IRIS to get her your vitals on a regular basis. So I installed complete set ups in both her office and at home and showed her how to use them." Race shot the older man a quick look, trying to gauge Benton's reaction to that revelation.

"You really did turn IRIS into a babysitter, didn't you." Benton said, sounding amused.

"24-7," Race agreed, carefully hiding his relief at the other man's response. Then he exclaimed in satisfaction. "Yes! Here's all the stuff Burroughs sent her. IRIS, download all files received in the last 72 hours from wburroughs@uta.edu. Create project file, name Smallwood, and begin analysis of data for any type of pattern. Also, monitor mail address bmason@quest.com for incoming mail relating to Smallwood project, download and add to analysis." Race glanced up at Benton. "Hard copies?"

Benton nodded emphatically. "If Barbara's not that computer literate, she's going to be more comfortable working with paper."

"Also, print all files, IRIS."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. SPECIFY OUTPUT LOCATION."

"Send them to the laser printer in the study area of my room, IRIS," Benton replied. He glanced at Race. "We'll set Barbara up there. The workstation is the most detailed one in the house and it also makes her readily available to Estella, should she need her." Then he grinned slightly. "Furthermore, she's not accustomed to working in the lighthouse and I think she'll appreciate the view from the house more than the white walls of the lab."

Race smiled back with a trace of his old humor. "Oh, I don't know. She was pretty impressed with the lighthouse the other day."

"She's seen it before," Benton said in surprise. "It hasn't changed."

"Actually, she hadn't. There'd never been a reason for her to be out there and she's pretty sensitive to your issues about security." Then Race hesitated, leaning back in the chair. When Benton looked at him questioningly, he said, "Benton, what about the boys? They have the right to know about this. And, truth is, we could probably use Hadji's help."

Benton shook his head. "Hadji's got enough on his plate as it is, Race. Let's not worry them unnecessarily. We'll wait until we know exactly what we're up against. If we're lucky, we'll find the answer and they won't even need to know about it until it's all over."

"They'll all be seriously pissed."

Benton shrugged. "Can't help that."

"Are you sure . . ."

And just that quickly, Benton's mood changed again. "It's my call," he snarled. "Don't interfere!" And with that, he spun and stalked out of the room. A few moments later, Race heard the back door slam and when he turned to the windows, he spotted Benton on his way out to the lighthouse. Race turned away, very unsettled. It wasn't going to be easy dealing with Benton if his moods shifted that quickly, particularly with the pressure they were all going to be under from now on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Barbara helped ease Estella down onto the bed and then pulled the blankets up over her. "How do you feel?" she asked. "I really shouldn't have let you go downstairs."

"I'm fine. I've learned how far I can push things. And we really didn't have a choice. The way Benton and Race were fighting this morning, you'd never had gotten Benton up here."

"At least he seems to listen to you."

Estella grimaced. "He's solicitous . . . really does get on my nerves sometimes. Race is bad enough, but when both of them get started it drives me absolutely crazy." Looking at the other woman, she directed quietly. "Close the door for a second, would you? I want to talk to you about something those two don't need to overhear."

Looking at Estella with mild alarm, Barbara crossed the room and closed the door. Then she came back to the bed, sat down, and reached for Estella's wrist. "What's the problem?"

Before Barbara could take hold of her, Estella moved, catching the other woman's hand. "Not me. You. Barbara, don't play games with me. I know how you feel about Benton . . . even if both he and Race are too blind to see it. It was all you could do to keep yourself together down there. I told you once that I'm here to talk to when you need it and I think you need it right now."

Barbara stared at the other woman and suddenly all her defenses collapsed. Exhaustion, fear, and helplessness hit her all at once and she finally crumbled. "He's dying," she sobbed, collapsing face down on the bed. "He's dying and there's nothing I can do to prevent it."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

  


Kefira looked grim as she broke the connection with Quest Compound and turned to Jessie.

"I knew it was a bad sign that we did not hear from Jonny or Hadji this morning."

"I never disagreed with you," Jessie replied from her position on the sofa. "All I said was that we promised them not to do anything stupid. We have to move with a great deal of care. One wrong move on our part could easily get them killed."

Kefira rose from her chair decisively. "I cannot stand by any longer. I am going to return to Bangalore. If nothing else, I will go to my family's home and speak with my father. He will know what to do. Do not try to talk me out of it."

"I don't intend to," Jessie replied.

Kefira stared at her in surprise. "But you said . . ."

Jessie interrupted her. "I've been saying that we need to be cautious. We're going to be going into a situation with no backup . . . what my dad used to call a 'mission on the lunatic fringe'. We have to be as prepared as possible before we head out." Jessie thrust herself to her feet, looking at the other girl with a trace of irritation. "What did you think I was going to do, sit here and wait for them to ship Jonny's body back to me in a box? I've been arranging for the two of us to go in after them from the moment we knew there was a problem. By midnight tonight we'll be well on our way to Bangalore."

"What kind of preparations have you made?" Kefira demanded.

"The kind that may serve us well heading into a war zone."

"Be more specific," the other girl said flatly. Jessie gazed back at Kefira with a stubborn expression, causing Kefira's mouth to straighten in a hard line. "This is my country . . . my husband. I have the right to know. Furthermore, as much as I trust you, I do not intend to follow you blindly." She hesitated for a moment and then her tone softened slightly. "Jessie, I am not asking that you compromise the identities of the people your father entrusted to you. I only wish to know what you are planning."

After a moment, Jessie sighed and relaxed slightly. Motioning Kefira to the sofa, the two of them sat down. Jessie ran her hand through her hair in an unconscious parody of her father and said, "Sorry. I think I'm starting to understand why Dad hated the spy business so much. It's just too damned easy to get caught up in all of the secrecy and paranoia, and the next thing you know, you're doing nothing but hurting the people that mean the most to you. I don't mean to be deliberately secretive."

"Then tell me what you are planning."

"All right, look, Jonny and Hadji were going to try a frontal assault on the situation. The fact that no word of Hadji's return to Bangalore has hit the news services says that either they didn't make it, or else they changed their minds about coming in openly."

"You believe they might be dead," Kefira said flatly.

"Actually, I don't," Jessie disagreed. "I think Bennett's right . . . there is a coup in the making, probably being instigated by Arun Birla. If Hadji had been caught and killed, Birla would no longer have any need to keep a low profile. I figure that as soon as he's sure Hadji is dead, he plans to declare himself Sultan. He's in the perfect position to do it. He could have Neela killed and produce her body, saying she was killed in the fighting, then declare himself head of the government using the argument that the entire Royal family is gone and as head of Hadji's Advisory Council, he is the most logical person to take over." Suddenly she looked thoughtful. "Is Birla married?"

Kefira shrugged. "I do not know. I would assume he is . . . most males in Bangalore take wives, if for no other reason than to produce heirs."

"I suppose if he doesn't have a living wife, he could force Neela into marriage and claim the throne that way."

"Not as long as I am alive. Now that Hadji and I are married, the Lady Neela has no legitimate claim to the throne."

Jessie contemplated the other girl seriously. "I know what you're saying, Kefira, but I have the feeling that if you tried to claim the throne there would be problems. For one thing, your marriage didn't occur according to Bangalore custom. Let's face it, you're the one who keeps telling me how stuck on tradition the place is. Under the circumstances, do you think they would willingly accept you as Sultana if Hadji was killed . . . particularly if he was never given the chance to stand up and openly declare you as his wife?"

"Not readily," she acknowledged reluctantly.

"Another issue would be that you are female. I remember Hadji telling me that there were problems when he named his mother as Regent. I suspect trying to declare yourself as ruler would be a whole lot worse. Unless . . ." Jessie looked at her speculatively. "What are the odds that you might be pregnant?"

"_Pregnant???_" Kefira sputtered. "I have only slept with him once!"

"Once could be enough if the timing's right. Was it?"

Kefira contemplated the question. "Perhaps," she replied cautiously. "What are you thinking?"

"That a claim to the throne would be a lot easier if you were carrying his heir." Then Jessie shook her head sharply. "But that's getting way ahead of ourselves. I have no intention of letting it come to that. Hadji and Jonny are both alive and we're going to get them out of this mess. 

"When do we leave for Bangalore?" Kefira demanded eagerly.

"Tonight. We've got a rendezvous with Jean-Paul tonight at 10:00 in New York. We'll take off directly from there."

Kefira raised her eyebrows. "Jean-Paul again? What for?"

Jessie's smile was cold. "To pick up the kind of weapons that both Jonny and Hadji would strongly disapprove of, but that are liable to save all of our skins in a war zone. We were originally scheduled to get them last night, but the missile launchers took longer than Jean-Paul anticipated and the meeting got pushed back by 24 hours. I also decided that we needed some new identification papers and that took extra time."

"I assume you are not planning to go into the country openly, then?"

"No. Besides, with the weapons that we'll be bringing with us, I doubt there's any border we could cross openly."

Kefira frowned thoughtfully. "How do you plan to get us and the weapons into Bangalore then?"

"I've got an idea, but I'm not entirely sure yet. I won't lie and say that this isn't being done by the seat of my pants . . . I'm playing the hand dealt to me as I go along, but one way or the other we'll get in there."

"When do we leave?" Kefira asked again, and Jessie could read her restlessness easily.

"How do you feel? Honestly."

"I am fine. I have been resting since Thursday night and am ready to go."

Jessie nodded decisively. "Then let's throw some stuff in a duffle and get out of here. We'll take our time driving to New York to be sure we aren't followed and be there in plenty of time to scope out the hangar and be ready when Jean-Paul arrives with the merchandise."

"Hangar?"

"He's delivering the weapons directly to the Quest private hangar at La Guardia. I'm going to use both Dr. Quest's plane and his influence to get us past customs and to India. I'm planning to fly directly to Mumbai and go from there."

"What will Dr. Quest say when he discovers that you are using his plane . . . both without asking and to transport weapons illegally?"

Jessie's face was hard as she replied, "I don't give a damn. I intend to get the man I love out of a war zone, and I don't really care what I have to do to accomplish that. Are you with me?"

"You know that I am," Kefira replied without hesitation. Then she paused once more. "Are we going to tell Race and Dr. Quest what we are planning to do?"

"No," Jessie replied decisively. "I'm not going to risk one or both of them trying to stop us. What they don't know about, they can't try to prevent."

"Good. Then I believe it is time to get started."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


They were an hour out of Boston when the familiar ring of a cellular phone interrupted their desultory conversation. Kefira reached down and picked up the receiver of the dash-mounted phone and then looked at Jessie in confusion. "Dial tone," she said economically.

Realization dawned and Jessie gestured toward the back seat. "The one in my purse . . . get it quick!" Kefira dove into the back and was pulling the bag open even before she settled back into her seat. She snatched the phone, hit the connect button and passed it to Jessie swiftly.

"_Bon jour_." Her voice became slightly deeper with the faintest trace of an accent as she answered. "Ah, Jean-Paul, _mon ami_! I was hoping to hear from you today. Have you heard about the delivery of my sculpture? _Bon_! Anton will be so pleased . . ." Suddenly, a frown creased her brow. "Inspect it? But Jean-Paul, I trust your judgment. I do not feel the need to inspect it before delivery. If you say it is in good condition and worth the price we pay, then I do not doubt you." She listened for a moment more and then sighed. "Oh, very well, if the seller insists, I suppose I do not have a choice. When and where should I meet you?" Jessie listened for a moment and then shook her head. "_Non_, that will not work. I am not at home at the moment. I have a meeting in New York City later today and I am already en route. _Non_, Jean-Paul, I tell you, it is not possible." By this time, Jessie was sounding decidedly irritated. She listened a moment more and then said flatly, "Then I am afraid we must cancel the deal. I simply cannot make that meeting. If the seller refuses to release the merchandise without it, then he must find another buyer. Extend my regrets to him and say that I hope we will be able to do business again some day. Thank you for your efforts on my behalf. _À bientôt_, Jean-Paul." And with that, she hung up on him.

"What was that all about?" Kefira questioned as Jessie tossed the cell phone into the back seat in disgust.

"My father's friend being an idiot. He wanted us back at the warehouse in Boston at 2:00 this afternoon . . . I assume to test our prowess with the new set of weapons."

"You told him no?"

"Yes, I did. I do not need a babysitter."

"Do you actually know how to use the weapons he was going to provide?"

"Yes. Dad taught me a long time ago. And truthfully, the only really touchy ones are the land mines and the explosives, both of which I have experience with. The only ones I have very little exposure to are the missile launchers and even those I've handled before." From the back seat, the cell phone began to ring again. Jessie shook her head at Kefira's questioning look. "No, let it ring. We already had a meeting set for the delivery of the merchandise."

"And if he does not come?"

"Then we go without them. I told you I was setting this up as I go along and I meant it. We've still got the small stuff we got the other night and we've got access to money to buy on the black market if necessary." She suddenly looked thoughtful. "I wonder . . ." Jessie gestured to the cell phone in the back seat, which had finally stopped ringing. "Could you please hand that to me again. I've got an idea." Kefira fished it out of the back seat once more and glancing at it quickly, Jessie dialed a well-known number. After a moment, she said into the phone, "IRIS, this is Jessie Bannon. I have a job for you . . ."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


It was shortly after 8:00 p.m. and darkness had fallen over La Guardia airport when a low, warning tone permeated the quiet of the Quest aircraft hangar. Kefira appeared in the office doorway and called out, "What is that?"

Jessie pulled her head out of the access panel in the front end of the Quest Lear Jet and replied, "We've got company . . . that's the perimeter alarm." Dropping down off of the ladder she had been standing on, she moved quickly to a computer on the nearby table and called up the security program. After the near-disaster at this hangar the previous December, Race had decided that stepped-up security was necessary in all of the outlying Quest holdings. Over the summer, with the help of Jonny and herself, he had installed state-of-the-art security and defense systems in all of the facilities the family used the most frequently, including the New York and Boston storage facilities. It had been a lot of work, particularly considering how much other stuff she and Jonny were faced with in their new life in Boston, and they'd sacrificed a lot of nights and weekends to get the system up and running, but right now she was seriously grateful they had taken the trouble. Skimming through the output screens, she told Kefira, "Four men. They just crossed through the outer sensors."

"Accident?" the other woman questioned as she pulled her gun and primed the chamber.

"Not the way these guys are moving. The approach is coordinated to cover each other, and they all have infrared equipment." Jessie smiled grimly. "I'd say we've got spooks."

"What do you suggest?"

Jessie's chuckle wasn't particularly pleasant. "Night vision equipment is wonderful stuff . . . as long as you're sure you're gonna be in the dark." She gestured to the front visitor's entrance. "Cover that door. I'll take the one on the back side of the hangar." She hit three quick keys on the computer in front of her and then commanded, "Activate vocal command access to security protocols."

The feminine voice that suddenly echoed through the large room was eerily familiar. "VOCAL COMMAND ACCESS ACTIVATED. PLEASE PROVIDE ACCESS AUTHORIZATION CODES."

"Access command Jessica Bannon mark 2008 authorization 69 Omega Edward Zebra 348493 mark access."

"AUTHORIZATION CODE ACCEPTED. SECONDARY USER?"

"Access command Kefira Subramanian mark 2011 authorization 77 Tom Baker David 194291 mark access," Kefira replied immediately.

"SECONDARY AUTHORIZATION CODES ACCEPTED. BE ADVISED THAT INTRUDERS HAVE BEEN IDENTIFIED WITHIN THE SECONDARY SENSOR WARNING PERIMETER APPROACHING THE PRIMARY HANGAR FROM TWO SEPARATE DIRECTIONS."

"Total number of intruders, IRIS?" Jessie questioned, moving quickly to the back window.

"SENSORS SHOW FOUR MEN APPROACHING, TWO FROM THE NORTHEAST, TWO FROM THE SOUTHWEST. LONG-RANGE SENSORS ALSO INDICATE A FIFTH MAN STILL OUTSIDE THE OUTER PERIMETER."

"Transport?"

"THERE APPEARS TO BE A VAN AND A TRUCK ON THE EXTREME EDGE OF SENSOR RANGE, PERHAPS TEN METERS BEYOND THE FIFTH MAN."

"Identities of the intruders?"

"UNABLE TO ASCERTAIN."

"Dollars to donuts, its Jean-Paul," Jessie called to her companion. "Are those men within the perimeter still utilizing infrared equipment?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

"Good. Activate electronic lockdown of aircraft access doors. Arm exterior, high intensity lighting and bring to ready status."

"BE ADVISED THAT THE STANDARD EXTERNAL LIGHTING CIRCUITS HAVE BEEN COMPROMISED."

"Are the high intensity lights still secure?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

Jessie laughed. "Surprise, surprise, Jean-Paul. Distance of intruders to hangar complex, IRIS?" Leaving her post quickly, Jessie ran to a nearby locker and opened it. Pulling out two sets of dark goggles, she threw one set at Kefira and then crossed back to the door. "Put those on. You're gonna need 'em."

"THIRTY METERS."

"They'll get as close as they can and then make a break for the building. IRIS, when the intruders get within five meters of the building, activate the high intensity lights. Also, I want a high intensity spotlight on the fifth man and a burst of electromagnetic radiation directed at the vehicles." Jessie glanced across the hangar at Kefira. "I want any surveillance equipment they're using on us to be fried . . . preferably permanently. Jean-Paul wouldn't pull this kind of crap on my father and he isn't going to pull it on me! The high intensity lights will overload the infrared equipment our friends are using and effectively blind them. I want them disarmed and inside as quickly as possible. I'm guessing they're wearing communications devices. With any luck, we'll take that down with any surveillance equipment. Once that's . . . "

"INTRUDERS ARE MOVING," IRIS warned. "TWENTY-FIVE METERS AND CLOSING."

"Prepare to disengage locks on pedestrian entrances on my mark."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. TWENTY METERS," IRIS intoned. " FIFTEEN . . . TEN . . . HIGH INTENSITY LIGHTING ON." Pained cries sounded clearly through the hangar walls.

"Pedestrian entrance locks off!" Jessie snapped and she immediately heard the panic bar on the front entrance disengage as Kefira knocked the door open with her shoulder. "Watch that fifth man, IRIS!" Jessie dove out the door coming face-to-face with one of her adversaries almost immediately. He was clawing at the night vision goggles, trying desperately to remove them in the blinding glare of the lights. Jessie slammed the heel of her left hand up under the man's jaw, carefully aiming the blow so that the momentum of the strike sent him staggering into the hangar. She spotted the second man, as well. He was leaning against the hangar wall about four meters away. He had managed to remove the night vision equipment and was wiping frantically at the streaming tears that ran down his face. Some semblance of sight must have been returning, because he shied back at her approach. Fearing she had little time to be gentle, she slammed a roundhouse right into his ear, causing the man to drop like a stone. Then she grabbed the back of his black jumpsuit and dragged him to the entrance and through the door. As she came in, she spotted the first man, still conscious and groping blindly on his hands and knees in search of god-alone-knew what. Dropping her burden, she used the butt of her gun and smacked the man as gently as possible on the back of the head. As she did so, she heard Kefira command,

"Reactivate electronic locks on pedestrian entrances. Status of fifth man?"

"HOLDING JUST OUTSIDE OF PERIMETER SENSORS."

"Shut down all exterior lights and activate infrared scanners. Advise of any breach of exterior perimeter sensors."

"ACKNOWLEDGED." Both women heard the relays click as the exterior lighting shut down and then there was silence.

"Come on, let's get these guys tied up and out of harm's way," Jessie said. "I don't think it's going to take too long before we hear from Jean-Paul."

"You are certain we are dealing with Jean-Paul?" Kefira asked her as the two women began dragging their unconscious captives toward the wall near the office on the far side of the hangar.

"I am now," Jessie replied. She indicated the man she was hauling across the floor. "This is the guy that followed us in the BMW on Thursday night."

"Now what?" Kefira asked once they had all four men secured.

"Now we go back to what we were doing before and wait for Jean-Paul to call."

"You are so sure he will call?"

Jessie smiled coldly. "Oh, he'll call. I have no doubt of it."

When the cell phone that Jessie had retrieved from the car began to ring twenty minutes later, she was just closing the nose hatch on the plane. She took her time securing the bolts before descending the ladder and picking it up. As she did so, she noted that their four visitors were all awake and glaring at her. Closer at hand, Kefira didn't even pause as she carefully finished applying the decal that overlaid new markings on top of the old ones on the underside of the sleek plane, effectively changing the aircraft's identity. When Jessie answered the phone, she made no effort at subterfuge. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" she demanded in a hard voice.

"We need to talk," Jean-Paul replied in the same tone.

"So talk." Jessie picked up an electronic device and flipped a switch. Immediately, the red warning beacon on the top of the plane began to flash and the small device she held began to beep.

"Not on the phone. Let me into the hangar."

Jessie studied the electronic signature being broadcast by the plane's onboard flight computer for a moment and then nodded. Flipping a switch, she watched as the signature changed to something completely different. She grunted in satisfaction and then said, "Now why would I do that? We've already got a large enough crowd in here as it is."

"I don't know what you're into, girl, but what ever it is, you can't play it like it's a game of poker!"

"_Poker?_" she snapped. "You don't even know what it takes to ante into this little disaster, so don't tell me what I can and can't do!" She glanced at her watch. "In a very short time, I'm leaving here and you'd damned well better stay out of my way." With that, Jessie hung up on him again.

"What are we going to do with our visitors?" Kefira questioned in a voice loud enough for them to hear.

"Oh, we'll wait until we're airborne and then I'll call La Guardia tower and let them know that someone tried to break into our hangars again. After the last time, they'll send the cops out in force and these guys will be tied up more than long enough for us to get free and clear."

"SENSORS INDICATE A BREACH OF THE OUTER SENSOR PERIMETER. ONE MALE INDIVIDUAL IS MOVING ON FOOT IN THE DIRECTION OF THE EAST PEDESTRIAN ENTRANCE."

"Here he comes," Jessie said calmly. "Is he armed, IRIS?"

"AFFIRMATIVE. THROWING KNIFE, RIGHT JACKET SLEEVE; THROWING KNIFE, LEFT ARM SHEATH; THROWING KNIFE, RIGHT CALF SHEATH; SEMI-AUTOMATIC PISTOL, LEFT SHOULDER HOLSTER, POSITIONED FOR RIGHT HAND CROSS DRAW; SNUB-NOSED THIRTY-EIGHT, LEFT ANKLE HOLSTER; GAROT, COLLAR OF JACKET; GAROT, SEAMLINE OF JACKET AT WAISTBAND; EXPLOSIVE CHARGE, HEEL, RIGHT SHOE; UNDEFINED SUBSTANCE, HEEL, LEFT SHOE, EXPLOSIVE CHARGE OR ACID CAPSULE PROBABLE; TITANIUM THROWING STARS, RIGHT SIDE OF JACKET, QUANTITY OF THREE TO FIVE PROBABLE; ZIPGUN, RIGHT . . ." She saw Kefira grin at their four captives' response to the steadily growing list of weaponry identified by IRIS.

"Is he carrying anything in his undershorts, IRIS?" Jessie asked dryly.

There was a brief pause before the Quest computer replied, "HE DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE CARRYING ANYTHING DANGEROUS IN THAT LOCATION." A loud banging on the door of the hangar heralded the man's arrival.

Pulling her gun, Jessie moved over to stand near the door and yelled, "What do you want?"

"Let me in. I want to talk with you."

"Is he alone, IRIS?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

"No sign of anyone else?"

"NEGATIVE."

"There was just the five of us," one of the men offered, but Jessie ignored him.

"How badly do you want in here, Jean-Paul?" she demanded.

"Don't play games! Just open the damned door."

"Strip," she said flatly.

_**"What!??!"**_

"Down to your shorts. Back off at least ten meters, strip down to your shorts, leaving your shoes and socks out there as well, and then come back to the door."

"What the-- It's only about 50º out here!"

"I'm sure it's not the first time you've ever been cold. Just do it!" Her voice was harsh and uncompromising. A string of profanity followed that comment, but a short time later the banging began on the door again.

"IRIS?" Jessie asked, backing away with her gun leveled. Off to her right, Kefira pulled her gun and moved to get a clear line of sight to the door, as well.

"HE HAS COMPLIED WITH YOUR DEMANDS. SCANS SHOW NO OBVIOUS WEAPONS."

"Other movements on the grounds?"

"NEGATIVE."

"Okay, turn on the hangar exhaust system and then unlock the door and let him in. Be sure it closes and locks tightly behind him once he's inside."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

The banging on the door quickly melded with the muted roar of the large exhaust motors on the roof, and then Jessie saw the door swing open. The entrance was vacant for a moment and then Jean-Paul stepped around the corner and into the hangar. Almost immediately, the door slammed shut behind him, causing the man to stumble forward in surprise. He spun, searching wildly for another person. The about-face gave Jessie the chance to visually inspect him for hidden weapons. Considering that all he now wore were men's bikini briefs, there wasn't really anywhere the man could be hiding anything. It also didn't leave much to the imagination.

"IRIS, spectrographic analysis," she yelled over the sound of the exhaust fans. "Dangerous chemical substances?"

After a moment, the computer replied, "NEGATIVE."

"All right. Shut down the fans." The noise level dropped dramatically as the exhaust motors shut down. "Secure all doors, maintain exterior surveillance, arm exterior defensive weapons systems."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. DOORS SECURED, EXTERIOR WEAPON SYSTEMS ON-LINE."

Jessie now faced Jean-Paul in the middle of the hangar. She arched one eyebrow at him as she insolently ran her eyes up and down his nearly naked body. "Not too bad," she commented with a slight smile.

"What did you think I was going to do anyway?" he asked sourly.

"When a person approaches my door armed to the teeth, I take no chances. It's something my father taught me."

"I wasn't . . ."

"Somehow, they knew exactly what you were carrying," the man who had spoken earlier said. "All the way down to where it was located." Jessie saw Jean-Paul's eyes widen in surprise.

"How?" he demanded.

The man shrugged. "Don't know. But you might want to ask her where the other woman is. And I don't mean that one," he added, nodding at Kefira as she moved into the middle of the room to join Jessie.

"What other woman?" Jean-Paul demanded. "And where are the other two? How many people know about me now?"

Jessie shrugged. "You were the one that wanted to meet the other members of my team. And as for IRIS, she's none of your concern. Now, Jean-Paul, you wanted in. You're in. So what do you want?"

"There's still the matter of your merchandise."

"I told you, the deal's off. You're too inflexible and I had other things I had to get done. So I've made other arrangements."

The man's eyes narrowed. "What other arrangements?"

"Those are none of your -"

"I AM RECEIVING AN INCOMING CALL FOR JESSICA BANNON VIA VID PHONE," IRIS interrupted.

"Ah, so maybe you'll find out about the other arrangements after all." She glanced at Kefira. "I don't trust him. Put a pair of cuffs on him so he doesn't get too feisty and then keep an eye on him." Sitting in the chair at the computer workstation not far from the four bound men, Jessie said, "Put it through, IRIS."

The screen flashed and then the image of a beautiful, black-eyed, dark-haired woman steadied on the large flat-panel monitor. She smiled in that slow, sultry way that was a trademark throughout the orient and said, "Hiya, kid. How's things?"

Behind her, Jessie heard Jean-Paul's wordless exclamation of surprise as she shrugged. "Been better, been worse. You know how it goes."

Jade laughed leisurely. "All too well. How's Race? Estella kill him yet?"

It was Jessie's turn to laugh. "Not as far as I know, but it's been a close thing a couple of times."

"Having met your mother a time or two, I can believe that. Did they actually end up getting married again? Race said they were planning to."

"Yeah. Last Christmas. Believe it or not, I've got a baby brother or sister on the way."

"No kidding!"

Jessie held up her hand. "Scout's honor!"

"I'll be damned," Jade said and leaned back in her chair, laughing. Abruptly, the laughter died away. "So what's this about needing a cache of weapons?"

"You got the list?"

"I've got it," Jade replied cautiously. "What are you planning to do, start a war?"

"No, just end one. Can you get them for me?"

Jade picked up a piece of paper lying in front of her and scanned it quickly. "Yeah, I doubt there will be a problem. Missile launchers might take a couple of days, though. Who are you?" she demanded as Kefira drifted up into range of the video recorder.

Jessie tossed a glance up at the other girl and then looked back at Jade. "Jade Kenyon, Kefira Singh . . . Hadji's wife." 

"Damn. You really _have_ been shaking things up since the last time I saw you. Hadji's married? What about you and Jonny?"

Jessie grinned. "Co-habitating only."

That caused Jade to do a double-take. "You and Jonny? A _couple_? _AND_ living together?" Jessie nodded, causing the other woman to laugh again. "Shaking things up doesn't even begin to cover it. Your parents must just love it."

The smile on Jessie's face vanished and she shrugged. After a moment she said, "So what about the weapons?"

Jade sensed that she'd hit a nerve and sobered as she contemplated the red-haired young woman. "I don't like this," she said flatly. She waved the piece of paper at Jessie. "Why do you want this stuff?"

Suddenly, Jean-Paul lunged forward. "Race doesn't know anything about this, Jade. Don't . . ." but his words cut off as the barrel of Kefira's gun buried itself under the point of his jaw.

"You were not asked for your input," Kefira told him coldly.

Jade gazed at the shackled, all but naked man and grinned slightly. "Playing strip poker in your spare time, honey?" she asked Jessie. "Looks to me like you've been winning. You're not looking too bad, Paulie. You should make it a point to look me up the next time you're in the orient. We might be able to have some fun." Then Jade turned back to Jessie once more. "So?"

"I need that stuff, Jade."

"Why?"

Jessie hesitated, then replied, "They're in trouble."

"Race and Benton?" Jessie shook her head. "Ah, the dynamic duo. What have they . . ." Then she paused and her eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. Both of them? And there's trouble in Bangalore . . ."

"Bangalore!" Jean-Paul exclaimed in horror.

"They're behind enemy lines, Jade," Jessie interrupted. "We gotta get them out."

"Disappeared?" Jade demanded and Jessie nodded. "How long ago?"

"They left last Thursday."

"You have a contact schedule?"

"Yes."

"How many have they missed?"

Jessie glanced at her watch. "Four now."

"Damn," she said softly. Her eyes flicked to Jean-Paul again. "You giving her grief about this, Paulie?" she asked dangerously.

"She's told you more than she'd ever tell me," he griped, as Kefira eased off. "I didn't know they were looking to go into Bangalore."

"You got her weapons?"

"Yes, but she's not getting them until I know she can use them."

"Don't be an idiot. Of course she can use them," Jade replied flatly. "Race is no fool. You, of all people, should know that. Give them to her. You have a way to get them out of the country, Jess?"

"I can get them out."

"What about the ones you asked me for?"

Jessie jerked her head at Jean-Paul. "If he's got everything I asked him for, I don't need those. But I could still use your help. I can get them out of here, but I've still got to get them delivered to where I need them, when I need them."

"I can do that. Is Paulie in on the game?"

"No."

"Yes!" the man exclaimed at the same instant. He glared at Jessie. "You aren't going into that place alone. If I'd known that's what you were planning, I'd have called Race right away. Since it's not likely you're going to let me do that, I'm coming with you."

"Like hell you are!" Jessie snapped. "I don't trust you, and I don't need you breathing down my neck."

"You have three choices," Jean-Paul replied harshly. "One, I go with you. Two, you shoot me."

"Don't tempt me," Jessie muttered.

"Or three, the instant you're gone, I call Race and set him on your trail!"

"Why doesn't Race know about this, Jess?" Jade questioned. "You need to tell him."

_**"NO!!!"**_ The response from both young women was violent enough to make Jade sit back abruptly in her chair. The three stared at each other for a long moment and then Jade said quietly, "I want answers, Jessie. You're in deep trouble. Word on the grapevine says that Bangalore is a powder keg and the fuse is already lit. It's not a question of _if_ it will explode any longer . . . it's just a question of when."

But it was Kefira who answered. "Please, Ms. Kenyon. We need your help. We know who is responsible for the problem. Jon and Hadji went in to try to deal with the situation, and now they are missing. If we do not do something soon, Hadji will meet the same fate as his father, and Jon will most likely die with him."

"Look, kid, I can appreciate what you're saying. But that doesn't explain why you aren't telling Race. You need his help with this one."

Jessie and Kefira exchanged a look and Kefira said softly, "Please, Jessie, tell them."

Finally, she sighed and seemed to slump as she looked back at the older woman. "Dad's got his hands full, Jade. Something's wrong with Dr. Quest."

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?"

"We don't know. He's suffering from headaches, weakness, dizzy spells, that sort of thing. Stress seems to trigger it. Jon and Hadji didn't even tell him they were going into Bangalore because they were afraid of what the knowledge might trigger."

"How is it that Benton doesn't know they're gone? You can't tell me that he would overlook his sons not being around the house."

"None of us live in Maine any longer, Jade," Jessie replied quietly. "Hadji and Kefira are in New York and Jon and I live in Boston."

"Boston. Then all of you are in school."

"Everyone but Jon. He's working." Jessie sighed again at the other woman's look. "It's a long story and I promise that I'll tell you the whole thing later, but the short version is that Jon and Dr. Quest aren't getting along." In an instant, her face hardened and she sat up straight once more. "Nor are Dr. Quest and I." The iciness of the tone made Jade and Jean-Paul shiver slightly. "Jon and I moved out last May and we're on our own. We keep in touch with Dad and Mom, which is how we know what's going on, but that's about it. Dad's simply got all he can handle right now. This is our problem and we need to deal with it."

The silence was strained by the time Jessie finished. Finally, Jade asked, "How bad is Benton?"

"I don't . . ." she paused, and then continued reluctantly, " . . . we don't think it's good. Dr. Mason is seriously worried."

"All right. I'm in . . . on one condition."

"It's yours. Just name it."

"You bring Paulie there along with you. He may be a pain in the butt, but you _can_ trust him and he's pretty good in a fight."

Jessie looked up at the nearly naked man who now stood at her shoulder, opposite Kefira. "Can you take orders, _Paulie_?" she demanded. "Because the first time you don't, you won't need Air India to get back home . . .I'll kick your butt so hard you'll be returning with the geese. Am I clear?"

The man snorted disgustedly and then looked at the woman who was still watching via vid phone. "Shit. She sounds just like Race."

"Sounds like him, thinks like him, acts like him, and in my experience, kicks butt just like him, too," Jade replied with a laugh. Then she looked at Jessie again. "When and where?"

Caution kicked in again as she contemplated that question. "You remember a couple of years ago when Jon and I were bumming around the Orient while Dad and Dr. Quest were attending a conference?"

"Which time?" Jade asked dryly.

"The time you had me help you pick out that God-awful piece of phony artwork for the guy you fleeced that sapphire from."

"Oh, THAT time."

"We'll meet you in the alley beside the shop where you bought that monstrosity at 8:00 p.m. tomorrow night local time."

"I'll be there," Jade promised. She looked at Jessie seriously for a moment longer. "You be careful, Jess. If anything happens to you . . . well, le'ts just say that I doubt Race will be in a very forgiving mood . . ."

  


To be continued . . .


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

  


Jonny crouched motionless in the pitch-black shadows and watched the street carefully. The fetid stench that surrounded him was all but overpowering, but he had long-since become accustomed to it. The stillness of that squalid thoroughfare seemed almost unnatural and he had to resist the urge to stir restlessly. It seemed as though Hadji had been gone for hours, however, Jonny's internal clock told him that it had probably been only a fraction of that.

Finally unable to stand it any longer, Jonny shifted uneasily, exhaustion, tension, and fear gnawing at his nerves until he felt totally disjointed. The last four days had been hell and he knew that they were both lucky to be alive. In fact, they probably wouldn't be if a growing sense of uneasiness hadn't caused Hadji to check the voice mail on his dorm room phone just before they were to board the flight in London for Bangalore. The frantic message from Vijay Patel, coupled with Hadji's inability to reach anyone at all at the number Patel had provided, was all the warning the two of them needed. They faded away silently into the crowds at the busy airport. Deliberately missing the flight that they were scheduled to take, they booked new reservations under false identities for a puddle-jumper that left Heathrow two hours later. The flight had made multiple stops in Europe, the Middle East, Africa, and northern India with layovers of up to eight hours at four of the stops. It had taken substantially longer than the direct flight, but when they finally landed in Bangalore City late afternoon on Monday, Jonny was grateful they had decided to be cautious.

Jessie had been right after all. Things were much worse than any of them had imagined. There was open guerilla warfare in the city streets. Uniformed military personnel roamed freely, attacking the citizens, often without apparent provocation. Jonny had not recognized the uniforms and when he had questioned Hadji about them, his brother had said only one word . . . Janissaries. That had been enough. Jonny remembered his only meeting with members of this group . . . the night they had met Hadji's cousin Vikram. That single encounter had convinced Jonny he never wanted to meet them again, and both of them had taken great care of stay well out of their way.

There was no longer any doubt that someone was searching for Hadji. Janissary troops were stationed to search all passengers as they disembarked, and virtually all foreign nationals were turned away and forced back onto the plane to await departure from the country. Across the tarmac, Jonny could see crowds of passengers, most of them obviously European, milling around uneasily. The large number of heavily armed military officers roving the airport kept them crowded together like cattle. An intimate knowledge of the type of aircraft they were on was the only thing that saved them from being taken by the vigilant guards. They had slipped away from the crowd that was attempting to deplane and had moved to the crew area. There, an access portal in the galley led down into the cargo hold where meals were kept stored until flight attendants were ready to prepare them. They had slipped through the portal, descended into the hold, and had hidden there for several hours.

While waiting for the hold to be emptied, they had searched it carefully in the hope of finding a way off of the plane without being spotted. One of the things they found was a large crate that was earmarked for delivery to the palace. They unobtrusively loosened one of the panels and discovered that it contained a huge piece of Persian sculpture. Hadji told Jonny that this was nothing that had been ordered by him or approved for purchase for the palace, but there was no question that was its final destination. As they unpacked much of the shipping material around the sculpture and stuffed it into the empty catering storage units, Hadji commented grimly that Arun Birla collected Persian sculpture.

Just as they began to fear that the plane would not be allowed to unload the cargo hold, the access door in the belly of the plane had opened. Jonny and Hadji slipped into the crate and carefully re-secured the loose panel. They were fairly certain that only a close inspection would show that the crate had been tampered with. It had been a tense twenty minutes as military troops had inspected the hold and marked those items that were to be off-loaded. Jonny and Hadji greeted the sudden sharp movement of the crate with a mixture of fear and relief. They had wedged the huge sculpture as best they could, but they both knew that if the crate wasn't handled carefully, a sudden shift of the contents could crush one or both of them. Fortunately, the cries of the handlers told them that Birla had threatened both the workers and their families if harm should come to the statue, so it was handled with great care. Before long, it had been loaded onto an truck and began its slow, bumpy journey toward the palace.

The two young men had argued in hushed whispers as they bounced along the narrow, uneven streets of Bangalore City. Hadji wanted to ride with the crate all the way into the palace, but Jonny fought that idea. He warned his brother that if Birla had been awaiting the statue, he was likely to be there for its delivery and would want it uncrated immediately. Jonny pointed out that if the man really was behind what they had seen so far, it was unwise to put themselves in a position where they were certain to be captured. He also pointed out that once inside the walls of the palace, they were likely to be cut off from news of what was transpiring outside. Jonny insisted that before they tackled the palace directly, they needed to know what was going on and urged Hadji to find a way to contact Rajeev first. Hadji had stubbornly disagreed and in the end, it was only Jonny's argument that the elder man had the right to know that Hadji had married his daughter so he could prepare for the repercussions that caused Hadji to reluctantly agree. So when the narrow thoroughfare became clogged with pedestrians and livestock, forcing the truck to a halt, the two of them had worked the panel on the crate loose, slipped out, refastened it, and then fled into the milling crowds.

What Jonny didn't voice aloud was his growing concern that their inability to find a way to contact Jessie and Kefira might be precipitating another crisis. He knew Jessie Bannon all too well. She had been seriously unhappy to be left behind, and he was certain that since they had missed several check-ins she would not wait too long before coming after them. Somehow, they had to find a phone and stop the two of them from putting themselves square into the middle of this mess.

They couldn't even contact them via e-mail or vid phone because they had been forced into leaving their luggage and electronic equipment. They had made it as far as Egypt by Saturday afternoon. They arrived at about 2:00 p.m. local time and had a layover until 8:00 the next morning. They needed to check in with Jessie and Kefira and neither of them had slept or bathed since they left Boston almost three days before, so they decided to find a hotel and crash for a while. Jonny had also become convinced that they needed to do something about his appearance. Even in Cairo, an extraordinarily cosmopolitan city, his blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin made him stand out. He was certain that once they reached Bangalore they would need to be very quiet about their presence, and he couldn't do that looking the way he did. So, while Hadji got cleaned up, Jonny set out into the bazaars in search of a disguise. He was able to readily locate hair dye and a lotion that would darken his skin, but finding contact lenses that would change his eyes from blue to brown turned out to be much harder. It had taken several hours to track down a small vendor that could provide what was needed and who could be paid to keep his mouth shut. He had been on his way back when he spotted a group of men outside the hotel who caused him to pause and fade back into the crowd.

They were dressed in standard western attire, but something about their bearing marked them as being different. It didn't take long to identify what bothered him about them . . . they carried themselves like soldiers. They were forcibly detaining a young street urchin, questioning him sharply and shaking him when the answers he provided didn't seem to satisfy them. Even from a distance, Jonny recognized the child. He had been begging for baksheesh near the hotel entrance when Jonny and Hadji arrived, and both young men had taken the trouble to stop and talk with the boy. Jonny's internal trouble alarm began to sound wildly as he listened. Circling through the crowd, he found the alley that ran behind the hotel. Using handholds formed by crumbling mortar and an old drainpipe, he scaled the side of the building and pulled himself up onto the roof. He smiled grimly, thinking of Hadji's comment about his propensity for rooftop adventures as he searched for a way to get into the building. An old roof entrance got him inside and a swift dash down a single flight of stairs got him back to their room.

Hadji had been sleeping soundly when Jonny entered, but a sharp shake of his shoulder had brought him awake almost instantly. Hadji had barely made it to his feet before a loud pounding had begun on the door. The only way out was by the window and it was a precarious climb that had to be done free style without even the aid of a trusty drainpipe. There was no way they could carry anything with them and expect to survive the climb back to the roof or down to the ground four stories below them. It left them with little choice. In the few seconds left to them, Jonny triggered an autowipe on the laptop, stuffed it into his duffel bag and tossed them both out the window. Hadji threw his duffel out as well, and then the two of them fled, barely clearing the room before the door shuddered one last time and burst open. They climbed over the edge onto the roof just as one of the men Jonny had seen down on the street thrust his head out the window searching for signs of them. They had descended to the ground quickly, but by the time they worked their way back to the side of the building where their room had been, both duffels were long gone. All they had managed to salvage was their identification, two sets of forged papers - one of which they had been traveling under - the cash they were carrying, the items Jonny had purchased, and the clothes on their backs. The one bright spot was that they hadn't lost the bulk of their clothes or the weapons. The stop in Cairo had forced them to change planes and the two luggage cases containing the weapons cache had been automatically transferred from one cargo hold to the other, never having been returned to their possession. But the entire incident left them certain of one thing . . . someone was watching for them, and they didn't think it was with good intentions.

After a hasty discussion, they both agreed that they couldn't risk returning to the airport and using the reservations they had waiting. So while Jonny donned his disguise, Hadji set out to find them new clothes. They had returned to the airport on Sunday morning about an hour after their plane had been scheduled to leave and found the passengers in the terminal still talking excitedly about the incident on their scheduled flight. It seemed that a group of terrorists had boarded the plane, apparently searching for something. The attackers had appeared suddenly, struck with surgical precision and were gone again before airport security was able to arrive. Everyone seemed uncertain what they wanted, but one thing everyone had agreed on . . . whatever it was, they hadn't found it. The crowd surrounding one of the excited passengers who had witnessed the entire incident first-hand didn't take notice of two young Indian students dressed in traditional garments and turbans, who listened with avid interest.

After a while, the two moved away and Jonny said softly, "That makes no sense. What did they hope to gain?"

"It was a desperate move," Hadji corrected in the same soft voice. "Something has happened. We must get into Bangalore quickly!"

But getting into Bangalore turned out to be extremely difficult and getting there quickly was out of the question. All flights into the country were being canceled, and when airport authorities were questioned they said that issues of passenger safety were being raised due to civil unrest in the country.

Just as they were about to give up and begin searching for an overland route, a single plane was cleared for takeoff into the country. By that time, they had no trouble getting reservations on it . . . almost everyone else had changed their minds about wanting to go there. And so, finally, late Monday afternoon they had arrived . . . only to be greeted by the Janissaries.

Suddenly, Jonny was snapped out of his reverie as a black shape materialized and Hadji dropped to his haunches beside his brother.

"Well?" Jonny breathed in a soft voice.

"Things are very, very bad," Hadji replied. "I was unable to locate any of my street contacts. They all appear to have disappeared."

"Killed?" Jonny questioned grimly.

"I do not know." There was a wealth of frustration in that reply. "I could not ask for any of them openly. But one thing is certain. Something has happened that has enraged the general populace. No one will discuss it, particularly in front of a stranger, but the general tone of the people is ugly and the potential for violence is very real."

"No one recognized you, right?"

"I do not believe so. Most people see what they expect to see, and no one expects to see the Sultan of Bangalore dressed in rags and wandering in the poorest sections of the city in the middle of the night."

"There has got to be some way to find out what's going on!" He heard Hadji take a deep breath beside him.

"There is. We must get into the palace."

"Oh yeah, smart move," Jonny hissed in a whisper. "Let's just hand you over to them."

"I mean it, Jonny," Hadji replied, his whisper sounding irritated. "It is the only place we can hope to find out what has happened."

"So what do we do . . . walk up and knock on the front door saying, 'Hi, mom, I'm home!' Hadji, it's suicide!"

"There are other ways."

"Yeah, like what?"

"There is a back door . . . an old trade entrance that is no longer used much. If I can get in that way, there are accesses to secret passages that seam the palace. Those passages will give me the chance to eavesdrop and learn what is happening."

"What about Rajeev? Surely he would know what's going on."

"I managed to locate a phone but was still unable to reach him. Jonny, I cannot wait any longer. I must know what is happening, and the palace is the best place to get answers."

Jonny sighed. He didn't like it, but he had no better ideas. "Okay, you lead the way and let's scope out your back door."

"I think that perhaps . . ."

"Don't say it . . . don't even think it!" Jonny hissed sharply. "You are not leaving me behind _anywhere_, you got that? We're in this together."

"Jonny, this is not your fight. I cannot permit . . ."

"I am **not** one of your subjects! I'm your brother. So don't try to order me around . . . _Excellency_."

Hadji was silent for a long moment and then he growled softly, "Do not start that. I get enough of it from Kefira."

Jonny grinned in the dark and his laughter came through as he replied, "Yeah, but it works. She sure has your number."

"I cannot make her do anything," Hadji grumbled. "If you insist on coming, then let us go."

"Lead the way."

It took almost two hours to work their way through the city streets and around to the back side of the palace. Finally, the two of them found themselves hidden in a small grove of trees not far from a heavy wooden door that backed up onto the mountainside at the rear of the palace.

"This isn't going to work," Jonny breathed softly to his brother as the two of them watched the four men who leaned against the wall beside the entrance. "They're watching that door."

Hadji uttered a soft curse and continued to watch the men carefully. Finally, he replied, "We will have to remove them. This is the only other way in."

But Jonny had been thinking and a glimmer of an idea was beginning to develop. Grabbing Hadji's arm, he drew him along and the two retreated up the hillside away from the palace. When they were a safe distance from the four men, he said, "I've had a thought. I remember you showing me around the palace the last time we were there and something about the place bothered me."

"What?"

"It was the wrong shape."

"What are you talking about?" Hadji said irritably, turning to descend back down the hillside.

"No, wait. Listen to me. There's closed up sections of the palace, aren't there. The place is huge, but the stuff you showed me can't be all of it. And there were sections of it you must not even have mentioned because the floor plans you showed me don't match the shape of the structure."

"Of course there are unused portions of it. Jonny, the palace is over 500 years old and has been added on to many times."

"Good! Any of those sections lie along an outside wall?"

"Yes," he agreed hesitantly. "But they were mainly the old harem sections with high walls and windows covered with wooden lattice. There were no doors."

"I don't care about doors. We aren't going to be able to get in that way. They're being watched too closely. We need to go for a place they aren't going to expect us."

"We can remove the guards . . ."

"And warn Birla that someone's gotten in somehow? Not a good plan. Right now, he doesn't feel threatened. He has no idea we've made it into the country and he's feeling safe. His overconfidence is our advantage and we need to keep it that way." Jonny scanned the sky quickly. "It's going to start getting light soon. We need to find a place to hole up for a while where we can get some sleep. Later today, I want to slip down and take a look at those abandoned sections of the palace. Come on."

Hadji followed reluctantly and some time later, the two settled into a hollow spot high on the hillside above the palace. They sat for a while, watching the sky brighten and trying to let the strain of the preceding days drain away. Finally, Hadji said, "What are you thinking, Jonny?"

Jonny shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure yet. Give me a while to work on it, and then I'll tell you. Why don't you lie down and get some sleep. I'll take first watch. Do you still have any of that bread you got yesterday afternoon?" He grinned at Hadji. "It's nice to know your old skills as a thief haven't faded away with time and soft living."

"What soft living?" Hadji demanded, rooting around in a grubby canvas bag that lay beside him. "We may have had money, but Father certainly never spoiled us." He held out a chunk of grainy bread and some goat cheese to him. "Do you want some water?"

"Yeah," he said, reaching for the water skin Hadji held out to him. Then he laughed softly. "You do have a point there. Life with our father was never boring. Non-stop is more like it. I'll admit that having the money was nice, though." Jonny leaned back on one elbow with a sigh. "Does make day-to-day things simpler."

Hadji swallowed hastily and then asked, "Are things difficult for you and Jessie?"

"No more so than for any couple just starting out, I guess," he replied with a shrug. "I think it's all in what you get used to. We were used to having the money and then suddenly we didn't have it anymore. It just took a while to adjust. I can't complain. We do all right."

The silence between them lengthened and finally Hadji asked, "Are you happy in Boston?"

Jonny stared hard at his brother. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

Abruptly, Hadji felt as though he was looking at a stranger. Jonny's dark skin, black hair and brown eyes were disconcerting enough, but suddenly Hadji had the feeling he really didn't know the young man facing him any longer. "I am concerned. All of us are. You have . . ." Hadji hesitated, as though searching for a way to express it. " . . . closed up. You do not talk to us any longer. Most of the time we do not even know what you and Jessie are doing. I feel . . . " He trailed off, uncharacteristically uncertain. 

Jonny leaned forward in concern. "Hey, Hadj, what's wrong? Talk to me, man."

"Are we drifting apart, Jonny? Is my life in Bangalore and yours in Boston starting to sever the bond we've always shared?"

"Not gonna happen," Jonny replied strongly, leaning forward and putting his hand on Hadji's shoulder. "We're brothers and have been since the day we met in the streets of Calcutta. I call it luck . . . you call it fate. But it doesn't really matter what you call it, I just know that we were meant to be brothers. I figure in another life we were probably born that way. You know what I think the problem is? I think we've both gotten so busy that we've gotten out of the _habit_ of talking to each other. I _also_ think that you've taken to internalizing all the crap that goes on with Bangalore and keeping it from us so we don't worry. Hell, I don't think that . . . I know it. Kefira's told me as much, and I can see it in the way you carry yourself and by how easily you lose your temper. You've closed up on me, too, Hadji, and it's gotta stop. Look, let's make a deal. I'll speak my mind if you will."

The hesitation was only momentary and then Hadji nodded. "Yes. We can keep as much as we want from Father or Race, but not from each other." He smiled wearily. "It will be good to have someone I can talk to again."

Jonny snorted. "Whatever made you think you couldn't talk to me in the first place is beyond me. But I'll tell you what. As a gesture of good faith, I'll start. You've asked me several times if I'm happy. I keep telling you that I am, but you don't seem to believe me. So tell me what's really bugging you and let's just get it out in the open."

Hadji sat up straight and faced Jonny squarely. "Very well. I know you, Jonny. You are extremely stubborn. So is Jessie. I am afraid that you may be finding this much more difficult than you expected, but you are too proud to admit this move was a mistake. Do you think now that it was? Do you miss living at home?"

Jonny considered the question for a while. Finally, he sighed. "That's a hard question for me to answer, Hadji. In some ways I miss it, but in others . . ."

"I know things were difficult for you and Jessie at the end."

"Yeah, but it's more than that. I've told you before . . . I never really fit there. I was a disappointment to Dad. I know that . . ."

"You were not!" Hadji exclaimed.

"Yes, I was. And I'm really sorry about that. I wish I could have been the kind of son he really wanted." His eyes flashed up and met his brother's. "I'm just glad he got you. You've always been what he wanted . . . the one to follow in his footsteps, continue his work." Jonny stretched out on his back and crossed his arms behind his head, staring up at the wisps of high clouds that were rapidly turning into a blazing veil of yellows and pinks as the sun rose. "You know, I've had a lot of time to think about it over the last several months . . . about why things happened the way they did and why Dad and I can't get along anymore. At first, I really thought it was all about Jessie and I, and that the rant about school just added fuel to the fire. But the more I've thought about it, the more I've decided that our relationship really wasn't the problem. It was more of a symptom."

"I do not understand."

"I think I've known for a long time that I could never be happy doing the sort of things Dad does. Oh, I love the travel . . . the strange and exotic places and meeting all the new people. But the _work_? Things like doing the excavations of the Moai or searching for traces of the existence of the Yeti? Or worse yet, trying to invent something brand new that no one's ever thought of before? Hadji, I just don't enjoy it."

"What _do_ you enjoy?" his brother asked, watching him closely.

Jonny smiled. "I like to play with the stuff he invents. I love being in QuestWorld . . . making it do what I want it to. And I don't just mean the games and stuff. Like when Jess and I modified the military flight simulator program to use it to purge archive files. I loved figuring out how to do that. Or the time Rage planted the bomb and we had to use the Rachel program to try to stop him. Or even something as simple as using the hoverboards. _That's_ the kind of thing I like to do. I think that's why I love my job so much. I'm taking existing stuff and finding new and better ways of making it work for us. And I'm good at it, too."

"Yes, you are," Hadji agreed. "You always have been. And Father valued that."

"I never said he didn't. But it wasn't what he wanted in a son."

"I wish you would quit saying that," Hadji complained, "because it is not true. He told you that himself."

"When?"

"During the confrontation with Surd and his Thoughtscape program. That is an idea Surd planted in your head, Jonny, and it is simply not true."

Jonny shook his head as he sat up again. "No he didn't, Hadji. It was there a long time before that. I must have realized it when I was about ten or eleven. For a long time I told myself that I could _learn_ to be like him, learn to enjoy that kind of stuff. But the older I got, the harder it was to hide the fact that I just didn't like doing research. Why do you think I trashed so many of Dad experiments? I wasn't deliberately trying to cause a problem, but I would get so bored and then my mind would wander and the next thing I knew the whole thing was wrecked. And then Jess came along."

"I don't understand," Hadji repeated.

"Oh, Jess had been there for a long time. But when we were 15 . . . almost 16, our relationship changed. I knew she loved the pure research, just like Dad did, and that idea just sort of started to breed in my head. Jess and I had been dating for a about six months . . . this was after Cairo . . . and Dad had asked me to keep an eye on one of his experiments . . . a short term contract project for some paying client. I'd been sitting there monitoring the progress and got thinking about what I was doing and how much you guys loved this sort of stuff and all of a sudden I found myself feeling trapped . . . boxed in, like I couldn't breathe or something. Needless to say, I lost track of what was going on with the experiment, it got out of hand, and the entire thing was ruined. Dad was absolutely furious."

"I remember," Hadji acknowledged quietly.

"Jess and I had a date that night. We'd both carefully avoided talking about what a mess I'd made and the entire evening had felt really awkward. We were walking along the harborside park in Camden and all of a sudden I just blurted it out. How much I hated that kind of thing and how boring it was and . . ." Jonny stopped and took a deep breath, surprised by how much that memory could still shake him. "It was like once the dam burst, I just couldn't stop. I must have talked for twenty minutes straight. Jess never said a word . . . just sat there on that bench, hanging on every word like it was the most important thing in the world. And when I finally ran down, do you know what she said to me?"

"No, what?"

"She just looked at me with this serious expression and said, 'Then you shouldn't do it.' Just like that. No hesitation, no regrets, no condemnation . . . like it was no big thing at all. Just, you shouldn't do it. And after that, she always found ways to put me to work doing other things when all of us starting working on the big research projects. I'm not sure I've worked on any pure research since that day. And I haven't missed it at all. In fact, it's been a relief."

"I still don't understand what you meant about Father's reaction to your relationship with Jessie being more of a symptom."

"I think it goes back to wanting a son to follow in his footsteps." Jonny glanced sideways at his brother. "As long as you were there, my lack of interest didn't seem to bother him too much. But that changed when you discovered that you were heir to the throne of Bangalore. I watched it dawn on him, little-by-little, that you would never be able to work with him at Quest Enterprises . . . that your responsibilities as Sultan would prevent that from ever happening. And whether he consciously realized it or not, he began to react to the fact that she was running interference for me, shunting me out of the research projects. And then the whole business in March blew up and the next thing he knew, I was moving out and refusing to continue on with school. When I found a job, he suddenly had to face the fact that I had consciously turned away from all that he had built. I think that was the final straw. Everything that has happened since . . . the fact that we still can't get along, his fixation on our living arrangements, the constant harangues about school, all of it . . . goes right back to that single point. I'm not interested in the things that give him a reason to get up in the morning."

"So she was right after all," Hadji said softly.

"Who?"

"Kefira. Back in April she tried to tell us that this might be the source of the problem.

"She's a smart lady," Jonny said with a smile. "One of your better moves, marrying her." But something in Hadji's expression stopped Jonny. "Uh oh. I don't like that look. Now it's your turn. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts!" Hadji didn't reply, staring at the ground fixedly. "Talk to me, Hadji!"

"I am . . . not sure . . . that we did the right thing."

"Not sure? What are you _talking_ about? I watched you as you took your vows. You looked pretty certain then."

"Jonny, I am not one who makes decisions on the spur of the moment and then acts on them. Perhaps in the past I was more that way, but not now. I prefer to think things through carefully and plan them. I will not lie to you. When I asked Kefira to marry me, I was not thinking clearly. I was panicked. Strange men were trying to take her from me . . . had threatened to kill her if I did not let them do as they wished." A pained look came over his face. "And I - I looked at her and the instant before she attacked her assailant, I _knew_ what she was going to do. I could see it in her eyes. When she actually managed to accomplish freeing herself and she survived, all I could think of was to protect her in any way I could. I all but demanded that she marry me immediately."

"Did she tell you she didn't want to marry you, or give any indication that the idea didn't appeal to her?"

"No," he replied after a moment's thought. "She acquiesced immediately. But she was hurt and dazed and I took advantage of the situation. I wish she had told me no."

Jonny laughed. "No, you don't. I have never seen you look as happy as the afternoon when you walked out of our guest room together . . . not to mention when you pledged yourselves to each other. Look, Hadj, I'm going to pass on a piece of wisdom that I got from Dad a while back. Of all the advice he's ever given me, this is by far the best. Don't play the martyr for Kefira. Don't do things without consulting her because you think they're in her best interests, and don't try to second-guess her. Just talk to her openly, be honest in all things, and trust what she tells you. Believe me, if you don't the two of you will self-destruct the way Jess and I damned near did."

Hadji grinned reluctantly. "I am not certain I could survive all of the things you and Jessie went through."

"Yeah, and 90% of it was my own damn fault for doing exactly what you're doing right now. So stop it!" The laughter between the two young men was relaxed and easy. They both turned their attention to the surrounding countryside and the palace far below them, and for a while they didn't say anything.

"You know we have been out of touch for too long," Hadji said quietly, breaking the silence once more.

"I know."

"What do you suppose they are doing?"

"You know what they're doing. One way or the other, they're on their way here."

"And we have no way of stopping them."

Jonny rubbed his face, suddenly looking tired. "No, we don't. Even if we could reach them somehow, I don't think there'd be a way of stopping them from following us." He gestured down at the soldiers drilling on the open grounds of the palace. "I don't care how tightly they've closed the borders, word of this has to have leaked out. They'll come looking for us. You know they will."

"But they won't come alone." The comment wasn't nearly so much a statement of fact as a request for reassurance. "At the very least, they will talk with Father and Race."

"Wanna bet? Jess won't risk having Race try to stop her. Furthermore, I doubt she'll want to risk upsetting Dad right now. No, they'll be coming on their own. The only consolation I have is that Jess is innately suspicious. However they're doing it, you can bet that no one will know they're here until they're ready to make their move." Jonny sighed softly. "Look, you'd better get some rest. I'll take first watch and wake you in about four hours."

Hadji nodded and stretched out, shifting around until he found a comfortable position, as Jonny settled himself against a nearby boulder and prepared himself to keep an eye on their surroundings. And as both young men returned their gaze to the heavens, they each offered up a silent prayer for the young women who meant so very much to them . . .

  
  


To Be Continued . . .


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-one**

  


Jade Kenyon shifted uneasily in the shadows as her eyes scanned the busy street in front of her. Once, the streets of Mumbai would have been silent at this hour of the night. But Western civilization and its love of the nighttime hours had overtaken the city. Now, people teamed along the sidewalks, moving both singly and in groups. The streets, too, were filled, as cars wove and darted, trying to make headway through the chronic gridlock and scores of seemingly fearless pedestrians who darted across their path. It was a lunatic's dance and as accustomed as Jade was to the craziness of travel in the Far East, she still marveled that people made it to their destinations in one piece.

She kept a close watch on the dark opening directly across the street from her. Jade had been standing in the shadows on this busy thoroughfare for more than half an hour now, keeping a wary eye on the scheduled meeting place. So far, no one had shown any sign of interest in the dark entrance to the alley. Jade scanned faces once more. It was now ten minutes past the scheduled meeting time and there was still no sign of Jessie Bannon or her companions. Jade shifted uneasily once more. What the hell was she doing here, anyway? She'd always made it a policy not to get involved in anything that didn't further her own interests. And this business . . . Even if she could make some money off the deal, the risk was still higher than she usually was willing to take. _But this is Race's daughter,_ a soft voice in her head whispered. _Why should that make a difference?_ she questioned back fiercely. Bannon had made his choice . . . particularly if what Jessie had said was true and he and Estella had another kid on the way. What the hell was she doing here?

Suddenly, a familiar face caught her attention. Across the street, a young woman drifted to a stop about three feet from the entrance to the alley. She was obviously Indian, her warm brown skin, black hair and dark eyes allowing her to blend in with the bustling crowds. If she hadn't stopped so close to their meeting location, Jade might not even have noticed her in the teaming throng. She stared at the young woman for a long time, committing her image firmly to memory. She was of medium height and had a slender build. Her lips were a little too full and eyes set just a fraction too wide for her to be called really beautiful, but considering the circumstances, that was probably a good thing. She didn't have that arresting beauty that would have caused her passing to be marked by everyone who saw her. Her hair was long, falling well below her waist, and she had it pulled back and braided into one long, heavy plait that fell down the middle of her back.

The one thing that marked her as being a bit different was her dress. No Indian garb here. From head to foot, she was dressed in supple black leather. Snug pants seemed glued to the lower portion of her body. They disappeared at mid-calf, tucked into the tops of a pair of comfortable-looking black boots. She wore a long-sleeved bomber jacket that ended at her waist and through the open front Jade could just see a snug black shirt of some kind. Jade's eyes narrowed slightly. She'd seen that kind of garb before . . . mercenaries routinely wore this sort of stuff . . . and so did spooks. Jade's eyes raked the girl carefully, and it didn't take long to spot the carefully concealed bulge that marked the shoulder holster that she wore. Hadji Singh appeared to have found himself a formidable mate.

Leisurely, the girl shoved off from the wall she'd been leaning against and drifted along the sidewalk toward the shop and its adjacent alley. Jade's eyes scanned the crowd swiftly, searching for Jessie and her father's old friend, Paul Descarte. There was no sign of them, and when Jade looked back for the other girl, she too was gone. Jade couldn't wait any longer . . . she either moved to join the girl now, or she turned and walked away. But before that thought was even fully formed, she had made her decision. Checking to be certain that her face veil was in place, Jade moved out of the shadows and shuffled up the street away from the alley. After about a hundred yards, she made a tottering move out into the street. Horns blared, and the screeching of brakes marked several drivers' efforts to avoid hitting her. The invective that was flung in her direction as she bowed her head and scurried across the road made her grin behind the veil. Retracing her steps on the opposite side of the street, she quickly came even with the alleyway once more. Lagging slightly, Jade waited for a crowd of people to shove their way past. Then, with one final swift glance around her, she darted to one side and disappeared into the opening.

Jade hesitated about five steps into the alley, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light levels. The pitch-blackness gradually resolved itself into dark black shapes in the slightly lighter surroundings. Slowly, Jade moved forward three more steps, her eyes searching the shadows for the people she had come here to meet. Then she froze as something that felt suspiciously like a gun barrel pressed firmly against her spine in the small of her back.

"It is rather late for you to be out of your house without your husband or son, grandmother," a voice purred softly. "If you will tell me your name, I will see you are returned to the . . . appropriate . . . place."

Jade laughed silently. Yes, a truly formidable lady. "Ah, but I believe I am where I belong, Excellency," she replied in a soft whisper. Stepping away from the gun barrel, Jade turned and bowed respectfully. "Sultana Singh."

"Ms. Kenyon," the young woman replied, sounding unfazed by Jade's immediate identification. "An interesting disguise, but not an overly inconspicuous one."

"Yes, but Arabs aren't that unusual in Mumbai, and when you're out in the open it hides so many sins. Of course, I might say the same. Your outfit isn't exactly inconspicuous either. So where's our mutual friend?"

"We must join her. I am here to take you to her, and I would suggest that we make haste."

"Lead the way."

In the darkness, Jade could just make out the fluttered gesture. "You will have difficulty with our path dressed in that."

"Not a problem." Swiftly, Jade stripped off the veils and the encompassing black garment and dropped them amid the other refuse in the alley. "Let's go."

Kefira spun and moved more deeply into the alley with Jade close on her heels. Several yards further up she stopped once more. "Up," she breathed softly and then followed her own command.

Jade muttered a soft oath and felt blindly along the wall in front of her. "I'll be damned," she breathed as her hands discovered carefully crafted handholds dug into the masonry. Cautiously, Jade began to climb. Kefira was waiting for her on the roof.

"Follow me," she commanded and set off at a rapid pace across the roof. For the next ten minutes, Jade was led on a harrowing path of running leaps and frantic sprints across open expanses of rooftops. The only thing that made the trip one step beneath totally suicidal was the now-brilliant light from the rising moon. Finally, Kefira stopped and let Jade join her. Then, she said in a soft, breathy whisper, "This is the last one, however, it is a difficult jump. Wait here and watch. I will signal when you are to make the crossing." Jade saw her check the gun she carried, ensuring it was securely anchored, and then she broke into a hard run. She crossed the last six feet of rooftop and launched herself across the gap. Jade watched in disbelief as the young woman disappeared into the blackness while still suspended in mid-air. Jade waited breathlessly. Finally, she heard a high, piping whistle and began to breathe once more.

Calling herself every kind of fool she could think of, Jade backed up a few more feet and then broke into a run before she had the chance to think better of what she was about to do. She hit the edge of the roof and launched herself across the gap with as much strength as she could muster from her seriously tired legs.

She almost didn't make it. She seemed to hang motionless in midair for an eternity. Then she landed hard on her feet on the edge of the adjacent rooftop. She stumbled as she hit and teetered precariously, fighting to tilt her balance forward away from the long drop to the street. Hands suddenly grabbed her, yanking her quickly away from the edge. She sank to her knees, her exhausted legs trembling and no longer capable of supporting her weight. She felt dimly grateful to still be alive.

"Are you all right?" a soft, familiar voice questioned, as a dim shape crouched down beside her.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Jade panted. "You're more of a lunatic than your old man."

"Thank you," Jessica Bannon replied and the laughter in her voice was clear. "Can you move? I want to get undercover before we have any long discussions."

"I can move," Jade replied. She wasn't about to let these _children_ get the better of her. As she rose unsteadily to her feet, a strong hand on her elbow caused her to turn her head and breathe softly, "Paul?"

"As ever," he replied in her ear. "Can you climb? We're going to be heading back to the ground."

"I'll manage."

A short time later, the four of them slipped into a dingy building not far from where they had descended from the roof. Standing in the darkness, Jade noted the stench of the place and wondered what she might be standing in. Then light flared, and she looked around in interest. The place appeared to be an abandoned dwelling of some sort. That it hadn't been in use for quite some time was evident by the amount of dirt and total lack of furnishings. Animals, however, had obviously used it because there were signs of rats everywhere.

"Lovely place you have here," Jade commented dryly, turning to Jessie.

"It'll do for the short term," the redhead replied. "I don't intend to hang around here long."

Jade looked at Jessie closely. She had changed in the four years or so since she'd last seen her. There was no trace of the young, 14-year-old girl evident in the hardened young woman who stood facing her now. Dressed in garments identical to her companion, Jessie looked every inch as deadly as Jade knew her father to be. The situation these two were facing was bad, but looking at them standing side-by-side in front of her, Jade wasn't sure she'd want to take odds against them. "So what's the plan?" she asked Jessie evenly.

Jess shrugged. "We need to get into Bangalore. I doubt that going in the 'front door' is a good idea, so we're going to have to find another way."

"Going in at all is a bad idea," Paul Descarte said strongly.

"We do not have a choice," Kefira replied quietly. "Hadji and Jon are already there and they need our help."

"I understand how you feel, Excellency," Jade said gently, "but with Hadji lost, probably the single worst thing you can do right now is put yourself in jeopardy, as well. God forbid that he should be killed, but if he is, the country will need a leader."

Kefira's eyes flashed and she opened her mouth to reply, but Jessie jumped in before she had the chance. "Whether it's a good idea or not, we're going to do it. We're not asking you to come along. I wouldn't have brought Jean-Paul if you hadn't insisted. And as long as you can see to it that my weapons are delivered, you've fulfilled what I've asked of you and I'll willingly pay whatever you ask. We'll arrange for the fund transfer before Kefira and I leave."

"Where do you want me to deliver them?"

A quick look flashed between the two young women before Jessie replied, "I'm not entirely sure yet. I know it's a lot to ask, Jade, but I'd like it if you could wait here in Mumbai until I can radio you a delivery location."

"How are you planning for me to get them to you once you know where? I'm assuming you won't be in Mumbai by that time."

"No. We're going on in. We'll take what we can carry easily and still keep them disguised. Once we've located a safe drop point, I'm going to ask you to airdrop them to us."

"It will mean I've got to have a plane," Jade warned, stomping on Descarte's foot to keep him quiet.

"I'll pay."

Jade's eyes narrowed. "Where are you getting the money, Jessie? Do you have any idea how much we're talking here?"

"It doesn't matter," Jessie answered evenly. "I've got an open line of credit. You name your price . . . I can pay it."

"Geezus," Descarte muttered.

"There's only one place you can be getting that kind of money," Jade said softly, staring hard at the two young women. Jessie returned the look without flinching. "You said you weren't on speaking terms with him."

"We're talking about his sons . . . the only family he has left. You think he's going to begrudge me the money?"

"You don't even know what kind of a mess you're walking into!" Descarte burst out, no longer able to keep silent. "Damn it, you don't even know if you _can_ get in. The place is shut up tighter than mom and dad's closet on the night before Christmas. They aren't allowing planes to land, they've closed the border crossings, and rumor says that the Janissaries have been reactivated to patrol any possible way in or out. And even if you can get in, you have no idea what you're liable to be facing. This is crazy!"

Jessie glanced at her companion. "Still think you can get us in?"

"Yes," Kefira said flatly. "No one that Birla could assign to patrol the borders knows the high mountain passes the way I do. I grew up roaming those mountains and know every rock and stream." She smiled grimly. "They will not prevent us from getting in."

Jessie turned back to Descarte and shrugged. "There you go . . ."

"You still don't know what you'll be faced with once you get there!"

"One step at a time. First we get in, then we worry about what we find there."

"Damn it, you can't . . ." Descarte began, but Kefira cut him off.

"There is merit to gathering as much information as we can before we start off, Jessie."

"You have something in mind?"

Kefira nodded. "There is a man here in Mumbai . . . one that I know personally and that my father trusted above all others. He is a merchant . . . a shipper. If there is any sort of word available about the situation in Bangalore, he will know of it."

Jessie frowned. "You sure you want to trust the knowledge that you're here to someone who has connections to Bangalore?"

"This man I trust. He was never a friend to Vikram or his father, and the connections between his family and mine go back several generations. He would never betray me."

"All right," Jessie replied. She looked at her watch swiftly. "Can we get to him tonight? I'd really like to be out of here by dawn. The fewer crowds we're in, the less likely we are to be spotted."

"I do not know where Mr. Lakshmanan lives, but perhaps, if we can get into his place of business, we can find an address."

"How far away?"

"Some distance. His business is located on the west side of the city."

Listening to the two of them discuss things, Jade got the distinct impression that both she and Paul had just been shut out. Glancing over, she saw him starting to open his mouth to protest and she caught his eye. Shaking her head, she gestured toward a corner of the room and drew him to one side.

"Don't bother. You aren't going to change their minds."

"But . . ."

"All you'll do, Paul, is end up being dumped. If you really want to help, follow her lead and do what she asks so you can be there to cover her back. You don't know Jessie Bannon. I do. She's got all of her father's skill and nerve and a full measure of her mother's drive and stubbornness. When she sets her mind on something, no one . . . not even Race . . . can stop her." Then Jade qualified it a bit. "I take that back. I bet there's one person who can talk her out of things, but he's not here."

"Well then, let's get him! This is suicide."

A sardonic smile touched Jade's lips. "He's the one she's going into hell for . . ."

"Oh, that's just great," Paul said in disgust.

"We're leaving," Jessie announced as the two young women came up to join Jade and Paul. "You can wait here . . ."

"No," Jade cut in smoothly. "Where you go, we go. Until we have firm plans on what we're doing next, we shouldn't split up. And if your Mr. Whateverhisnamewas knows anything about the situation in Bangalore and I'm to drop weapons to you there, I'm going to need to know what he knows. I'd only make one request . . ."

"What's that?"

"Can we make the trip on the ground rather than across rooftops? As much as I hate to admit it, I think I'm getting too old for running long jumps that have such dire consequences if you miss your mark."

Jessie lips twitched for a second and then she laughed softly. "Fair enough. Rooftops are Jon's forte anyway. Let's go. I don't want to waste any more time."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"You aren't going to be able to bypass this," Paul said softly. "It's state-of-the-art."

The four of them stood in the darkness while Paul and Jessie examined the combination lock and alarm system on the back door of Zail Lakshmanan's import/export business. Nearby, Kefira and Jade kept a wary eye out for any sign of movement.

Jessie snorted softly. "State-of-the-art is what they call what's for sale. It doesn't even come close to what I'm used to. Move." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small tool. Grabbing the access module case carefully, she inserted the tool in a small gap at the base of the unit and pulled at it gently as she probed. After a few seconds, the cover popped off, revealing the internal circuitry. Delving into a small leather bag that she had slung over her shoulder, Jessie pulled out a cell phone, a small black box, and two pieces of cable. She attached one end of each cable to the two bundles of wire that led into the keypad and attached the other end to the small black box. Looking upward, she stepped to one side to get out from under the cover above the door and swiftly dialed the cell phone. She waited for a moment as Paul and Jade watched her with interest. They both saw her stiffen just slightly. Then she whispered into the phone, "Activate priority secure status. Encryption on highest. Voice verify only. Access Bannon, Jessica." She listened briefly. Then she continued. "Access decode modules and standby for input. Decode input, determine shutdown string and transmit back to source." She plugged the black box into a small jack on the side of the phone and pressed a button on the side of it. A barely audible series of beeps came from the phone, and then the security device on the door flashed on. Numbers flickered rapidly across its display and after a long moment the access module beeped softly and the beacon light went from red to green. Jessie reached out and tugged on the handle and the door swung open silently.

"Oh, I _want_ one of those!" Jade whispered fervently as Paul just stared in amazement.

Gesturing to her companions to stand still, Jessie spoke softly into the cell phone again. "Analyze security and shut down internal alarm systems. Once system is disarmed, hold for further instructions." After a moment Jessie waved her companions through the door as she detached the cables from the access module, snapped the cover back into place, and closed the door behind her. Flipping on a flashlight, she shone it around the interior of the building, obviously hunting for something. With a soft grunt of satisfaction, she followed the beam of her flashlight to a phone sitting on a nearby desk. She picked up the instrument, disconnected the phone cable, and plugged it into the black box on the side of the cell phone. "Interface with the system, IRIS. Then bring up the lights, internal rooms only. I don't want to warn anyone out on the street that there's someone in the building." Then she looked at Kefira. "Lead the way."

Kefira set off at a rapid pace with the other three close on her heels. Jade increased her pace to come level with Jessie and said, "I've got a new deal for . . ."

"No," Jessie said firmly, cutting her off.

"You don't even know what I was going to say," Jade objected.

"Oh yes, I do, and I'll do without the weapons in Bangalore before I give you one of the decoder units. They're a Quest Enterprises prototype and you know the way Dr. Quest is about those. Furthermore, it wouldn't do you any good anyway. The unit only works with IRIS and I can guarantee you that Dr. Quest won't give you access to her."

"That's the second time you've mentioned Iris. Who the hell is she and how did she do that?" Paul demanded. "Those systems are supposed to be unbreakable."

"Nothing is unbreakable. This one is just a bit harder than most."

"Let me guess. Benton designed this one," Jade said dryly.

"No, Jon and Hadji did." Then Jessie took off at a trot, leaving Jade and Paul staring after her.

"Oh, now that's just downright scary," Jade said. "Even I can't break this system and believe me, I've tried. I didn't realize those two had gotten that good."

"Who the hell is Iris?" Paul repeated doggedly.

Jade turned a mocking look on her companion. "Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Paulie?" Then she laughed and patted his shoulder companionably. "Don't feel bad. I haven't met anyone yet that hasn't been a bit overwhelmed by the Quest kids. And IRIS isn't a who . . . she's a what . . . it's Benton Quest's integrated computer system. Custom designed and more powerful than all the Pentagon's research computers put together, I suspect. And those kids have grown up with that kind of technology. It's as natural to them as breathing." Jade shook her head at his look. "I keep telling you not to underestimate them. If I thought that Jonny Quest and Hadji Singh were dead, I'd find a way to stop her going into Bangalore, one way or the other. But I don't believe it. Benton's sons haven't met their match yet and I doubt they'll find it here. And as long as they're alive, you won't keep these two from trying to join them."

Jessie and Kefira suddenly reappeared around a corner and came striding toward them again. "We're going to wait here," Jessie said. "The residence is too far without a vehicle and I'm getting jumpy."

The smile faded from Jade's face. "Jumpy how?"

Jessie shrugged irritably. "I don't know. Itchy . . . like maybe we're being watched . . . or that something of importance has happened that we don't about. I can't put my finger on it, but I don't like it. I think we're better off staying under cover for now."

Kefira and Jade nodded, but Paul hesitated. At Jessie's look of irritation, he held up his hand placatingly. "I'm not going to disagree with you, Jessica, but I do have a suggestion."

"What?"

"You have an incredible advantage in your ability to get into a place this well guarded without being detected. You lose that advantage if people arrive here to find you inside and their system compromised. Do we know when we can expect people to begin arriving here?" he asked Kefira.

"Mr. Lakshmanan's employees generally start early. I would expect people to begin arriving here shortly after dawn," Kefira replied.

"Then I would suggest that about an hour before dawn, we reset the entire system, eliminate any record of our entry from the security computer if we can, and wait outside for your contact to arrive. That way, we can make our entrance through the front door and no one will be the wiser. The intervening time will give us the chance to keep an eye on the street for any sign of unfriendlies as well as give us some downtime. You may be good, Jessica, but you are not superwoman. I suspect you've been going full steam since you first contacted me. You need some rest."

Jess stood looking at the older man. Finally, her shoulders slumped slightly and she nodded wearily. "You're right. I'm beat. And I'll catch hell if word gets out that there is a way to circumvent this security system." She glanced at Kefira. "Can you cope with first watch?"

"I am fine. I was able to sleep on the flight here."

"You should both rest . . ." Paul began, but Jessie sardonic look stopped him.

"Your idea may be a good one, but I still don't fully trust you. And Jade . . ." A touch of humor entered the look she shot at the dark-haired vixen. " . . . I've known her too long and heard way too many stories to _ever_ fully trust her. Just do me a favor, Jade. If you ever cared for my father in any way at all, control your sticky fingers and leave everything here the way we found it, okay?" Jade was grateful that Jessie was already turning away, because she wasn't entirely certain what her face might be showing. It wasn't often that anyone managed to hit quite that close to home.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-two**

  


"ANALYSIS COMPLETE. SYMPTOM PROGRESSION SHOWS NO SIGNIFICANT CORRELATION TO ANY IDENTIFIABLE DEMOGRAPHIC FACTOR."

Benton sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration. _Nothing,_ he thought to himself. _There is just nothing to explain what's going on._ He shook his head, grinning somewhat bitterly to himself. Race had often said that one day his high-minded principles would be his undoing. Well, this time he might just be right.

Five years ago, when Smallwood had outlined his project and it's goals, Benton had been horrified. No matter how high-minded Smallwood's original intentions had been, his project was simply an exercise in mind control and Benton knew just how dangerous that could be. And then, he had been caught in that web and Darcy and his people had turned him against his own son. Cold chills shook him, even though the lab was comfortably warm. He had tried very hard to forget that episode. The realization that he had tried desperately to capture and possibly kill Jonny was almost more than he could stand. So, in the aftermath of that debacle and before anyone had the chance to realize what was going on, he had done something that was turning out to have been monumentally stupid. He had destroyed every shred of Smallwood's research.

He'd started in Darcy's industrial complex where the chips were manufactured, getting out just ahead of the police. From there, he moved to Smallwood's office. He burned all of Smallwood's research notes and had smashed every one of the chips he could lay his hands on. Evidently, he was more thorough than he'd thought, because from what both Burroughs and the British government told them, nothing survived. And what chips _he_ hadn't destroyed, the townspeople of Wychford had. Their anger over being used as lab rats in Smallwood's experiments had been deep, and they had vented their fury on the hardware the man had created. When people began to get sick, there had been no research notes left to refer to, and Smallwood was already dead, killed by his own hand while still in jail.

It had left the doctors who struggled to save the dying population of the village with no source of reference from which to begin their search for a cure. And it was a deficit they were never able to make up. Unfortunately, Benton Quest was beginning to think it might just be a deficit he wasn't going to be able to overcome either. In the two days since Barbara had explained what was causing his inexplicable weakness, he had thrown himself into the problem with an energy he hadn't been able to muster in quite some time. But it was like beating his head against a brick wall. He was getting nowhere.

Sighing once more, he said, "Results of the symptom progression analysis shows no discernable pattern that can be correlated to any physical factor within the affected population. Initial indications of a correlation between age and sex to the duration of stage two symptoms turned out not to be of statistical significance, showing an overall standard deviation of less than .8375 from mean when hypotheticals were tested against data taken from the entire population."

"Have you taken to talking to yourself now?" Benton spun, startled by the unexpected voice. The last he knew, he was the only one in the lab. Barbara smiled and shoved away from the wall she was leaning against. "Race said I'd find you out here."

Benton chuckled. "I pretty much live out here these days."

"You should be getting some rest," she replied with a frown, as she crossed to sit down beside him at the computer console.

Benton shrugged and gestured at a cot that was set up against the far wall. "I rest when I'm tired. Believe me, Barbara, I'm not pushing it harder than I should. I can be bullheaded and stubborn sometimes, but I have the sense to realize that I'm not going to do myself any good if I keel over."

"Good. You're the key to finding a solution to this problem, Benton. We can't afford to have you go down on us."

He turned away from her and picked up some printouts that had been sitting next to him on the console. "Whatever's causing the problem seems to be exceedingly well masked. I've run every correlation I can think of and can't seem to find anything in the stage one symptoms that is a consistent indicator of the problem. There is a definite progression . . . sets of symptoms that mark stages in the advancement of the . . . . what do we _call_ this, anyway? A disease? A disorder?"

"Illness," she replied quietly. "It's as good of a description as any."

"Illness," he agreed in the same tone. "There are definite stages in the advancement of the illness and each are marked by a specific set of symptoms. And for the most part, when you shift from one stage to the next, those symptoms that marked the earlier stage disappear. For example, in all cases, the onset of the illness appears to be marked by an increase in general anxiety. Acute discomfort with changes in environment, work patterns, that sort of thing . . ."

"Like evidence that your children are growing up."

Benton nodded. "Yes. How much of my reaction to Jonny and Hadji's getting older was caused by the illness and how much of it can be credited to the classic 'empty nest syndrome' is anyone's guess. But I'd say that at least part of my problem was the onset of the illness. But here's the weird part. In all cases, stage one of the illness is marked by three things . . . increasing anxiety, outward behavioral changes, and the bouts of weakness. But there's no rhyme or reason to how or when those three symptoms show up. Everyone showed signs of the anxiety first. In some cases, like mine for example, that anxiety grew and then spilled over into the behavioral changes . . . I began doing things that were out of character for me. Seriously out of character, I take it?"

The question made Barbara raise her eyebrows in surprise. "I'd say so, yes."

Benton nodded again and slid down in the chair stretching his legs out in front of him. Barbara was struck by how much he looked like his son at that moment. "From that point, the bouts of weakness began to set in, and I began exhibiting those three sets of symptoms with more and more regularity. But that's only one pattern of onset. It seemed to be unique for almost every individual suffering from the illness. One woman went for almost a year suffering from the anxiety and never showed any sign of any other symptoms. Then one day, she erupted in a fury, beat the hell out of her adult daughter with her fists, developed acute weakness by nightfall, and by dawn had run the entire gamut of remaining symptoms and lapsed into the coma from which she never woke. They thought another man never exhibited the anxiety stage at all. He appeared to develop the weakness first, suffered from that for about two months, then went from being loud and boisterous to be scared of his shadow, and declined from there."

"But I thought you said everyone suffered from the anxiety first," Barbara objected.

Benton smiled grimly. "They did. For a long time, he was the fly in the ointment, so to speak, of the researchers' data. He seemed to skew all of their results and they concentrated on him heavily, figuring that because he was different, he was likely to provide them with the key to unlock the puzzle. It wasn't until after he had died and his family from out of town began going through his things that they discovered that he had kept a journal. In that journal, they discovered that he had suffered from the severe anxiety for quite a while before he ever came forward."

"So all of the extra effort they spent trying to figure out what made him different was wasted," Barbara said in disgust. "Why didn't he just admit it to start with? He misdirected their efforts and that could have been the difference between people living and dying."

"Because he was a man that never asked for help from anyone. He was loud and outspoken and highly independent. It wasn't until the illness began to change his behavior patterns that he came forward at all. And then it was like pulling teeth to get any kind of information out of him."

"What a mess."

"Pretty much."

"But what about stage two symptoms? You said you'd begun concentrating on them now."

Benton nodded. "This is where the dizziness, blackouts, and loss of motor control began to show up. Again, there was no set pattern to the onset of symptoms. And stage three was marked by coma and eventual death."

"Are you making any headway at all?" she questioned hopefully.

He shrugged and stood up, crossing the room to put the printouts with a stack of others on a table against the wall. "Not really. I managed to more firmly pin down another symptom that they hadn't considered, but it hasn't gotten me any further than we were before. What I really need is Smallwood's research notes and/or one of those chips."

"And you said those don't exist any longer."

"No."

"What was the other symptom?"

Benton shrugged a second time, refusing to look at her. After a moment, he said reluctantly, "The memory begins to be effected. It appears that all memory disintegrates eventually, but the first to go are those events that were stored while under the influence of the chip itself. The next to go are the memories that are generated when the actual illness is running its course. Essentially, that means that you don't retain anything from that period of time. Then, those that were stored between the time the chip was removed and when the illness began to manifest, and finally those that were stored before contact with the chip. The researchers didn't realize that it was occurring because they assumed that the symptoms were cumulative . . . that the first stage symptoms continued into the second stage. They don't. So what they took to be behavioral changes and anxiety attacks during the second stage were, in many cases, the patient's reaction to loss of memories that shouldn't be missing. It's like Alzheimer's without the good and bad days. The speed with which the memories disappeared varied from patient to patient, but that's one progression that's consistent."

The silence between the two of them was pregnant. Finally, Barbara swallowed and said, "You mean you'll forget . . ."

"I already have no memory of what happened while the chip was installed. I remember the auto accident and being in Wychford. And I remember the meeting with Smallwood in his office where he told me about what he was attempting to do. But from there on, it's a blank. I know that I attacked Jonny, but only because both you and Race have told me that I did. Two weeks ago, I remembered it . . . now I don't. The memories start again with a searing headache and finding Jonny leaning over me in the van with the population of Wychford after us."

Barbara's mouth felt dry. She started to ask a question, but before she had the chance, Benton turned to her urgently. "Barbara, there's something I need to know . . . something I have to ask you . . . and I need for you to be honest with me."

"A-a-all right."

"Where are Jonny and Hadji?"

She stared at him in shock. "What?" she gasped, the pain in his face making her voice break.

"They're not here. Hadji's in school. Right?"

"Yes."

"I remember that . . . he and Kefira took mid-year admission to Columbia. But where is Jonny? He . . . isn't here . . . I've never known him to be gone when I'm . . . when there's trouble. Is he away at school, too?"

Barbara's throat closed up as she stared at him. _Dear God, he doesn't remember any of it,_ she thought. _He has no idea . . ._

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked carefully.

Benton sank down onto a chair and ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I-I'm not sure. I remember the firefight with Baxter's people last December. That seems to be intact, as does most everything before that. There . . . there may be some things missing, but I can't be sure. I also remember Hadji and Kefira leaving for Columbia . . . and Jonny and Jessie starting back to school here at the start of spring session. B-but after that . . . things begin . . . it's like . . . looking at a fractured mirror . . . there's just bits and pieces. Nothing makes any sense. I've tried so hard to sort it out, but I can't . . . it's like he's just not there!" He looked up at her in fear and desperation. "He's not . . . nothing h-happened, did it? He and Jessie aren't . . . dead . . . are they?"

She had been sitting next to him at the computer console, somehow rooted to the chair. Now, his anguish seemed to break the trance that held her and she leaned forward. Putting her arms around him, she hugged him reassuringly. "No, Benton! They aren't dead. I promise you."

For the briefest instant, she thought she felt him lean into her, seeking comfort. But then it was gone. He sat back and looked up at her. "Then where are they? Barbara, I need their help. I-I don't think I can do this alone."

Barbara caught his hands in hers and squeezed them gently. "Then we will get them here to help." With an effort, she smiled at him. "We've only been waiting for you to tell us that we can call them."

"I wouldn't let you?"

"No," she said gently.

He stared down at their joined hands for a moment and then looked back up at her again. "I won't remember this, you know. By tomorrow I'll have forgotten again. But for right now, I need to know. What's happened in the last nine months?"

Barbara sighed heavily and tried to steel herself for what she knew would be one of the most difficult conversations of her life. "All right. I'll tell you . . ."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Martha Evans looked up as the back door opened and Barbara Mason entered. She was struck by the pain evident in the woman's face. Barbara gave her a small smile. "Evening, Martha. How are you tonight?"

"Better'n you, obviously," she replied in her no-nonsense voice. "You look done in, deah."

"It hasn't been one of my better days," Barbara agreed despondently.

"When was the last time you had a decent meal? And I don't mean that nasty stuff you get at one of them drive through places."

"I don't know. But that's all right. I'm not really hungry . . ."

"Landsakes, girl, it's not all right. You, of all people, should know that!" She grabbed Barbara by the arm and led her to a stool at the kitchen bar. "Sit. I'll get you something."

"No, really, Martha," she protested. "If I could just have a cup of coffee . . ."

But before she could finish, Mrs. Evans had plunked a bowl full of a thick, steaming clam chowder down in front of her. "Eat!" the woman commanded. "In the mean time, I'll make fresh coffee. All that's here is that stuff Mr. Bannon makes and it can take rust off of nails." Mrs. Evans eyed her as she bustled around the kitchen. "You cannot let yourself get run down. Too many people depend on you. And right now, you're what's holdin' this family together. They've just been hit with too much all at once. They're lookin' to you to be the steady one in the midst of all the chaos."

"To tell you the truth, Martha, I'm not feeling very steady right now."

Mrs. Evans waved her hand negligently. "That's just an empty stomach talkin'. You get on the outside of that lot and you'll start feelin' better."

Reluctantly, Barbara picked up her spoon and scooped up a mouthful of the chowder. As she began to eat, she felt her eyes widen. She was _starved_! She ate ravenously until the older woman set a cup of coffee down in front of her. As she took a swallow from the steaming mug, she looked up to see Martha Evans staring at her. Mrs. Evans nodded her head sharply. "That's better. You're startin' to get some of your color back." Turning, the woman walked back across the kitchen to the sink where she began peeling potatoes. 

As Barbara continued to eat, she asked idly, "So how's the family?" The sudden cessation of movement caused her to look at Mrs. Evans sharply. "Martha?"

"Jim and Donna aren't doin' so well right now," the older woman admitted reluctantly.

"Bobby?" Barbara asked gently. Mrs. Evans nodded wordlessly. "Have they found him yet?" This time she shook her head. Barbara rose and crossed to put an arm around her shoulders. "Then what's happened?"

"They got . . . a letter . . . from him," she said with difficulty. "From New York. Said he wasn't comin' back."

"Do they know where in New York?"

She shook her head again. "No. No return address . . . just a postmark."

"Did he say if Francesca was with him?"

This time, the woman turned to look at her and there was an angry glitter in her blue-gray eyes. "Yes, that little witch went with him. She's the cause of this! That boy was happy until that little she-devil came along."

Inwardly, Barbara sighed. She wasn't surprised at this. If anything, she'd been expecting it. Martha, Jim and Donna Evans could deny it all they liked, but the fact was that Francesca Hamilton was not the source of Bobby Evans' discontent. The young man had simply been biding his time for years, waiting for the chance to get out of Rockport. The accident that injured him so badly last December, coupled with the long recovery time, had been the last straw, and when the explosion finally came, it had been violent and devastating. Bobby had argued with his father and then turned on his twin brother, Matt. When the dust finally settled, Bobby had fled, taking Francesca Hamilton with him. The family and law enforcement agencies across the country had been searching for the pair ever since, but to no avail. It was as though they had dropped off the face of the earth. Privately, Barbara suspected they would never be found . . . not if they didn't want to be. Francesca was not the garden-variety teenage girl. She'd been raised in the art of subterfuge and deception, and Barbara thought it likely that she could hide the pair of them very effectively . . . probably provide for them too. She just hoped that they would have the sense to see to it that Bobby got the continued health care he needed. He was a long way from fully recovered.

"I'm sorry, Martha. I know this has been difficult for all of you."

"It's Matthew I'm worried about," Mrs. Evans replied. "He blames himself for this . . . says he pushed Bobby to it with that business over Marla Dawson."

"He did no such thing. His actions with Marla have always been nothing but honorable. Bobby was angry and frustrated when the two of them fought. I'm sure that he's sorry about it." 

Mrs. Evans gestured helplessly. "I know. Bobby even said so in the letter. But Matthew just doesn't believe it. And the girl _still_ doesn't know how he feels. He won't tell her."

"You know, Martha, I've decided that being young stinks. You couldn't pay me enough to go back to being 18 again!"

For a second, the woman's pained expression didn't change. Then, a smile flickered. "Can't say I'd want to do it, either. Seems to me life was simpler when we were that age."

Barbara laughed and returned to her dinner. "I doubt it. I think we just don't remember it." The two women settled back into comfortable silence as Barbara finished eating quickly, then carried her dishes over to the drain board and refilled her coffee cup. "You know where Race and Estella are?"

Mrs. Evans raised her eyes toward the ceiling. "Up in their bedroom upstairs. They've been together most of the afternoon. She's been tryin' to convince him to cancel the appointment with the doctor in Portland tomorrow."

"She can't do that!" Barbara exclaimed. "She needs to see Dr. Eftekari."

"I know. But with Dr. Quest not being well, she feels that she needs to be here, and she's afraid that doctor won't let her come home again."

Barbara shook her head. "Having her collapse on us is the _last_ thing we need right now. I better go talk to both of them. Thank you for the chowder, Martha. It was wonderful, as usual, and it was exactly what I needed."

"You just remember to talk care of yourself. Now go on, before that firebrand up there convinces her man to let her stay here."

Taking her coffee with her, Barbara climbed the stairs quickly and headed for Estella's room. As she approached, she heard Race's voice drift down the hall.

"I understand how you feel, but I don't see how we can take the risk."

"We've been through this before, Race," Estella replied patiently. "My condition is stable right now. Barbara herself says that all of the indicators show that the problem hasn't increased in recent days. As long as I stay in bed and don't push it, I seem to be doing fine. Stability is what he really needs right now, and if we see that doctor and he decides to keep me in Portland, that goes straight out the window."

"Yes, and what if you take a sudden turn for the worse? Portland is too far away to get to quickly. We could lose both you and the baby, and that's an unacceptable risk. Benton understands that. He wouldn't want you to stay and jeopardize your health."

Barbara heard Estella sigh. "It's more than just Benton. Race, you and Barbara have been catching the brunt of this entire situation. And I don't just mean my pregnancy. There's Benton's illness and the added work because the kids are gone. And then there's also the situation with Jonny and Jessie. Race, you can't hide things from me . . . not anymore. The estrangement of those kids has hurt you a lot. I can see it. The fact that none of them will trust you, that you can't keep tabs on them and know that they're safe. It's been hard for you."

"For you, too."

"Yes, but not like it has been for you. Not only are you separated from your daughter, but there's also Jonny and Hadji. Those two boys are like sons to you. It hurts you just as much to be on the outs with them as with Jessie. And then to ask you to split your time . . . to make a choice about which of us needs you the most at a time like this? Look, Benton has to stay here. He needs the lab to find a cure for his illness. If they hospitalize me in Portland, you're going to be torn between the two of us, and I don't want to be the cause of that . . . not if it isn't necessary. And right now, it isn't."

"I have a better solution," Barbara said, stopping in the doorway.

Race turned, relief written all over his face. "Thank God! I need one."

"Bring the kids home."

"But Benton said . . ." Estella began, but Barbara stopped her with a shake of her head.

"Benton has changed his mind. He wants them here."

"What's happened," Race asked quietly. He held up a hand, forestalling Barbara's automatic protest. "I see it in your face, Barbara. What is it?"

She sighed softly and sank down into the chair. "The illness has definitely moved into the second stage and he's recognizing that he needs help . . . research help."

"It's more than that," he said flatly.

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly. "The illness is beginning to effect his memory. He's forgetting things . . . says it's progressive."

"Burroughs' notes don't say anything about that," Estella protested.

"Benton says that they misinterpreted some of the illness' progression, attributing the apparent confusion to stage one symptoms that weren't effecting the patients any longer." She smiled with difficulty. "The upside is that we shouldn't have to put up with any more temper tantrums."

"How bad?" Race asked her.

She was silent for a long moment and then shook her head slowly. "Bad. He pretty much has no memory of the last nine months or so. He . . . he asked me where Jonny and Jessie were. He doesn't remember anything that happened in March at all . . . or any of the subsequent events. And he's copiously annotating his research files because anything he does now he doesn't retain for more than a few hours." A pained look flashed across her face. "I just explained the situation with Jonny and Jessie, but he won't remember any of it in the morning."

"Dear God," Estella breathed softly.

Race rose swiftly. "I'll get them here," Race said grimly, "one way or the other." 

Estella watched as he disappeared out the door and a few seconds later, they both heard him descending the stairs. "It will be a relief to have them home," she said. Estella stared at Barbara as she nodded silently. "Are you all right?" she asked.

The dark-haired woman gestured vaguely. "I suppose I have no other choice." She stared down at her hands, which lay limply in her lap. Finally, she looked up and Estella felt her gut clench at the grief in her face. "He's so scared, Estella. I can see it in his eyes. The idea that he was sick . . . that he might die from it . . . that didn't frighten him. But the idea that his mind is going . . . that he can't remember what happened from one day to the next . . . it has him terrified. You should have seen him when I told him about what he had done in March. I tried to gloss over it, but he could tell I wasn't being completely honest and kept at me . . . made me tell him everything that's happened. I kept reminding him that it was the illness that made him do those things, but . . . "

"Benton's never been one to accept excuses for poor behavior, no matter how good the reason," Estella replied. "Not in other people, not in himself, and especially not when that behavior is directed at any of the kids."

"He'll ask again. I know he will. He won't remember this conversation and sooner or later, he'll ask. I honestly don't know if I can bear having to tell him about it again."

"No, he won't," Estella replied quietly. "He'll never ask any of us again. Benton is a scientist, Barbara. Documentation and methodology are an ingrained habit. I have no doubt that IRIS is monitoring everything that goes on in the lab right now, including your explanation. He'll see to it that a tape of the explanation is there when he needs to be reminded."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Race stabbed the disconnect button on the phone. _Where the hell are they?_ Race thought in irritation. He'd started with Jonny and Jessie, knowing that Jessie finished classes early on Monday afternoons. Not only had he not raised anyone at their apartment, he wasn't even able to leave a message. Evidently, they had turned off the machine, because it wouldn't pick up. He'd tried Hadji next and, much to his surprise, ran into the exact same problem. He frowned, as he leaned forward and flipped open an address book that lay on Benton's desk in the study. A sense of uneasiness fluttered in his stomach. Ruffling through the pages quickly, he found the number he wanted and had just begun to dial when a soft tapping on the door caused him to look up.

"Come on in, Barbara," he said with a wave.

"Any luck?" she asked, settling into the chair across the desk from him.

"Not yet. I've tried both of the boys with no results and now I'm in the process of trying Kefira. You know, I'm starting to appreciate the way Benton feels. You can never reach any of them when you need them." He listened as the phone began to ring steadily in his ear.

Barbara laughed a little. "They're all busy. Seems strange to think of them having their own lives that you know nothing about, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does. I'm sure we'll all get accustomed to it eventually." The phone rang for the fifth time and suddenly cut off abruptly. Race removed the phone from his ear and frowned at it, the uneasiness growing.

"What is it?" Barbara questioned.

"I can't get through to any of them. It's almost like all of them turned off their machines at the same time."

Barbara frowned in concern. "That's not like them. Even if Jessie and Jonny are still angry at Benton, I can't see Hadji and Kefira shutting down, as well."

"I can't see Jonny and Jessie doing it, no matter how angry they were. They both know Benton's not well. I don't like this one bit."

For a moment, Barbara hesitated. Then she gestured for the phone. "Give that to me." Race handed the phone over and Barbara dialed quickly. Then she handed it back. "Put it on speaker," she directed him. Race raised an eyebrow at her, but did as she asked. Suddenly, the line clicked loudly and a male voice answered.

"Jon Quest's desk."

"May I speak to Jon, please," Barbara replied.

There was the briefest hesitation and then the man replied, "I'm sorry, but Jon isn't available at the moment. Can someone else help you?"

"No, this is a personal matter. When do you expect him?"

"I really can't say. You'd need to check with his supervisor and he's not available at the moment."

"I see. Would it be possible for you to leave a message for Jon?"

"Certainly."

"Please tell him that Dr. Mason called, and that it's urgent that Race or I talk with him just as soon as possible. Tell him that it's an emergency and that we can be reached at his father's house." Both of them could hear the person on the other end rummaging through paper as though searching for something.

"Hold on just a second. I can't find a pen. Ah, got it. Okay. Dr. Mason, you said, right?"

"Yes. Or Race Bannon."

"Bannon. Got it. And he's to call either of you at his father's house as soon as possible."

"Yes."

The individual hesitated. "I don't remember seeing him at work today. Did you try him at home?"

"Yes. We didn't get an answer and there appears to be a problem with his machine. We weren't able to leave a message."

"Okay. I'll see if I can track him down and get the message to him. I'll also let his supervisor know that you're trying to reach him."

"Thank you. Can I ask your name?"

Again, they heard that brief hesitation and then the man replied, "Blake."

"Thank you, Blake. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. We'll try to get him back to you as quickly as we can."

Another click signaled the end of the call. Race reached out and turned off the speaker. Leaning back, he looked at Barbara with a shuttered expression. "Jonny's work place?"

"Yes."

"You talk to him there a lot, I take it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you knew a ten digit, out-of-state phone number from memory without giving it a second thought."

Barbara was quiet for a long moment, returning Race's look evenly. Finally, she replied, "Yes, I talk to him regularly. I had Benton's permission to keep both of the boys up to speed on his condition. I generally talk to both of them at least once a week, and it's usually easier to get Jon at work than it is to catch him at home." She sighed at his blank expression. "I'm so sorry, Race. I know how hard this has been for you. It's not fair. You've done nothing to merit being excluded."

The blank expression finally broke as his shoulders slumped slightly and he gave her a pained smile. "Guilt by association. Kefira and Hadji called it clear back in April." He shrugged. "What can you do?"

She leaned forward and reached for his hand reassuringly. "Just hold on a little longer. When Jon and Jessie realize that it was the illness that caused Benton's behavior, things will improve. Particularly once we find a cure for what ails him."

Race frowned slightly. "I sincerely hope you're right."

  
  


To be continued . . .


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-three**

  


"So what do you think?" Jonny asked, peering down the mountainside toward a somewhat decrepit section of the wall surrounding the Palace. "It looks climbable. Assuming we can get inside, can you get us into your secret passageway from there?"

Hadji looked at the wall doubtfully, then surveyed the visible section of the Palace. "This is the oldest section of the original building. It is sealed off from the rest of the Palace, and I have never been there. There is no way of knowing whether the secret passages run into this area, whether we would be able to get out of the sealed-off sections once we are inside, or even what condition the walls and floors are in. It could be extremely dangerous."

"Well, I'm open to other suggestions."

Hadji was about to answer, when loud noises drifted up from below, attracting their attention. Staying low and darting from one patch of cover to the next, the two young men moved parallel to the Palace wall, heading toward the main gardens fronting the Palace. One final sprint took them into a grove of trees that perched precariously on the steep slope about 300 yards from the front corner of the Palace. Picking their way carefully through the undergrowth, the two of them knelt at the edge of the screen of trees and peered down toward the main gate. A large throng of people milled outside the entry and even at this distance the angry shouts could be heard. A line of Royal Guardsman stood between the mob and the door to the Palace. All of them were armed and they had their weapons trained on the mass of people before them.

"Oh, I don't like the look of this," Jonny muttered softly to Hadji.

"Something is seriously wrong," Hadji replied in agitation. "The Palace Guard is not an armed regiment."

Suddenly, movement within the gate caught their attention and they watched as a man stepped forward. He was was splendidly dressed in a brilliantly colored caftan and wore a large turban on his head. He was tightly surrounded by another group of guards, but these wore a different sort of uniform. Where the Palace Guard wore uniforms of a deep blue, these men were dressed in brilliant scarlet. They also wore a different type of headgear. The Royal Guard wore a standard white turban, while the guards that surrounded the new arrival wore a fez-style headdress with a large plume.

"Who the hell are they?" Jonny asked.

_**"Janissaries,"**_ Hadji said, making the word sound like a curse.

"Who is it they're protecting?"

Hadji stared at the lavishly dressed man intensely. "I cannot tell . . ."

Suddenly, the man gestured violently and spun to return the way he had come. Several members of the mob stepped forward, yelling at his retreating back.

"No!" Hadji exclaimed wildly, starting to surge forward.

Jonny grabbed at him, dragging him back down into the cover of the trees. "_No,_ Hadji!" he exclaimed, just as shots began echoing through the early morning air. As they watched, six men at the front of the group fell as the Janissary guardsmen turned their weapons on the crowd. After a moment, the remaining men and women fell back, then ran as the Janissaries began to move toward them. Finally, the soldiers broke off their advance and turned back toward the Palace gate. Even from that distance, Jonny and Hadji could tell that they were laughing. As they walked by, the lead guardsmen administered a vicious kick to one of the bodies lying in the dirt. Then, they all disappeared into the Palace, leaving their victims lying where they had fallen.

Hadji let out a low moan and lowered his head onto his knee while Jonny continued to watch grimly. For a long time, no one approached the fallen men. Finally, four of the Palace guardsmen who had been shoved to one side by the arrival of the Janissaries, moved forward. Gesturing to the others, they approached the fallen men and checked them. Jonny saw one of them motion to a man near the palace entrance. The man disappeared, but returned shortly carrying something. As he watched, the guardsmen carefully wrapped the bodies in what appeared to be sheets and then gestured to the slowly reassembling crowd. Several men stepped forward to pick up the shrouded forms and then the crowd finally dispersed, taking the dead with them.

"There was nothing you could have done, Hadji," Jonny muttered to his brother softly. Catching his arm, he drew him back more deeply into the trees. "Come on, let's get out of here." Making their way silently back up the slope, they retreated to their hiding place on the mountainside once more. Jonny watched Hadji carefully for a long time after they had settled in. He was tense and unnaturally silent. Finally, Jonny asked, "Are you okay, Hadj? Honestly, there was nothing you could've done."

"We climb that wall at first dark," was Hadji's only reply.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Jonny and Hadji remained hidden on the mountainside for the rest of the day. No one had come anywhere near their hiding place, and they spent the time trading off sleeping and keeping watch. Hadji had said very little, even though Jonny had tried to get him to talk more than once. The sun had begun to drop toward the tall mountain peaks behind them and twilight was about half an hour away when Hadji suggested, "Perhaps we should begin moving down the mountain. The pilgrim's path is easy enough but I believe it might be wise to avoid the trail where we can. Our risk of being spotted is much greater out in the open."

"Agreed. We also need to scope out the exact spot we're going to try to climb. We need to find a place where we can take out the grillwork, get through it, and then put it back so it won't appear to have been disturbed. I think I saw a place where we may be able to do that, but I want to take a closer look. That will take some light."

Hadji nodded. "Let us get started, then."

They worked their way down the mountain silently, flitting carefully from one patch of cover to the next. Finally, the two came to a stop in a patch of shrubbery about 50 feet from the foot of the outer Palace wall. Jonny's eyes raked the area, noting the uneven surface of the wall and the high latticework at the top. Even from this distance, one section of it looked to be slightly out of alignment. 

Jonny leaned over and placed his lips up to Hadji's ear and breathed softly, "I think this is our best bet." Hadji scanned the wall and then nodded in agreement. Seeing no sign of movement anywhere, Hadji made a questioning gesture toward the wall. Jonny shook his head sharply. "No," he whispered softly in reply, "let's wait for nightfall. The darkness will cover our movements and we want to be certain things have settled down for the evening. Also, although we know they don't patrol the perimeter during the day, we need to find out if they've started doing it at night." Hadji nodded again and the two of them settled in to wait as dusk shaded swiftly toward full dark. Over the course of the next three hours, several groups of guardsmen passed along the wall, but none of them appeared to be regular patrols. When the third group had passed, Jonny squeezed his brother's arm and whispered softly, "Wait here." Then, before Hadji could protest, Jonny slipped silently down to the edge of the path that led along the wall and followed the guardsmen. He was back within ten minutes. "The guards on the back door have a mahjong game going. Our friends were en route to join them," he told Hadji softly. "What time does the guard normally change?"

"Nightfall and again at dawn," Hadji whispered. "If whoever is in control of the Palace has not changed that schedule."

"We're gonna gamble that they haven't. The game is in full swing, so hopefully everyone that is coming for it has arrived. I'm gonna give the wall a shot, and I'll signal you when I'm in."

"Perhaps I should . . ."

"I'm the better free climber, Hadj. Just hang here, okay?" With that, he was gone. Minutes seemed like hours as Hadji crouched there waiting for some sign of Jonny's progress. Finally, after about twenty minutes, the night air was broken by the whinnying call of a screech owl. It descended mournfully and finally died away on the wind. Hadji was gathering himself up to make for the wall when the sudden sound of voices caused him to freeze.

"What was that?" a nervous male voice questioned.

"A night bird," his companion replied.

"I have never heard any bird that sounds like that before."

"There are many strange sounds on the wind these days."

"And actions. Ramal told me today that Mr. Birla has declared himself Sultan."

"That one!" his companion replied and spat. "He is filth. The Sultan will dispose of him quickly enough once he hears what has transpired here."

"What of the rumors that the Lady Neela has disappeared?"

"As far as anyone can tell, she has been missing for several days now," the second man admitted reluctantly.

"Taken away by the Janissaries?"

"Who can say? But I am told that Mr. Birla was extremely upset when she could not be found, so perhaps she escaped the palace."

"I wish the Sultan would return."

"When the time is right, he will come. The Prophets have foretold it . . . the House of Singh shall rise up and free our people from tyranny. The day is approaching, my friend. Truly, we live in historic times. Come, I am hungry. Let us see what we can find to eat."

Hadji remained frozen in place for several minutes, waiting to be certain that no one else was around. Then he crossed the remaining distance, searched quickly for handholds in the decaying face of the wall, and began to climb. It turned out to be easier than he expected. When he reached the top, he found a yawning gap in the grillwork that normally covered the windows. Heaving himself up, he swung through the opening into pitch-blackness. He hung by his hands, wondering what he was liable to land on if he let go. Jonny's hissed whisper of "Go on, you're clear!" reassured him and he released his hold and landed neatly on the floor some 15 feet below the ledge. He looked upward and saw the dim outline of the window that he had just entered. As he watched, the slightly lighter darkness was blocked once more as Jonny carefully fitted the grillwork back into the window. A moment later, a soft thump heralded his brother's arrival.

"Okay, Hadj, now it's up to you. You have any idea where we are?"

Hadji pulled a small penlight from his pocket and flashed it around the room. The place was filthy and there was very little in it other than a few decaying pieces of wood in one corner. He shook his head.

"No," he said in a low voice. "As I said, this section of the palace was sealed off long ago. We will simply have to work our way toward the newer sections and see if we can locate an access to the hidden passages." Hadji set off quickly with Jonny close on his heels. They had been wandering through empty rooms and dirty corridors for some time before Hadji brought them to an abrupt stop in front of one of the doorways. "Look," he whispered, pointing at the floor of the room. Footprints were clearly visible in the thick layer of dust that covered everything in this section of the Palace.

The two young men eyed the evidence of others warily. "Could we have doubled back on ourselves?" Jonny asked softly.

"No," Hadji replied with conviction. "This is not any of the rooms we have explored so far. None of the others had furniture." He pointed to the tattered divan against one wall.

"More than one person was here," Jonny observed, kneeling to take a closer look at the prints in the dust. "And one of them was a woman."

"Why do you say that?" Hadji asked, dropping down beside his brother.

"She was wearing a full length sari. You can see where it brushed the floor." He followed the tracks with his light. "She walked from here over to that divan and then sat down on it."

"Mother," Hadji breathed softly.

Jonny looked at Hadji sharply. "What makes you say that?"

"She is missing."

"How do you know _that_?"

"I overheard two guards talking just before I climbed the Palace wall. They said that Arun Birla has been searching for her, but that she has disappeared."

"And you think she's fled to the old sections of the Palace."

"I do not know of anyone else who would know how to get to these rooms."

"Well, obviously someone else knows. These tracks say there were two people here." Jonny contemplated the imprints for a moment longer. Then he stood and flashed his light around the room carefully. "You notice something else odd about those tracks, Hadji?" Jonny shone his light on the corridor floor outside the room. Two sets of prints were clear . . . their own. "How did they get in here? That's the only door."

With a wordless exclamation, Hadji turned his light onto the floor and traced the walls around the room. Near the corner on the wall furthest from the door, multiple sets of footprints overlaid each other in the dust. Crossing to that spot, Hadji ran his hands over the wall carefully. After a few moments of searching, he uttered a small sound of satisfaction and pushed on the wall. Under the steady pressure, a section about four feet wide and five feet high pivoted to reveal an opening into a dark passage beyond. "Here it is."

"Your secret passageway?" Jonny queried, flashing his light into the corridor.

"Yes. These passageways seam the Palace. There is nowhere we cannot reach using them. And the fact that someone has recently been here, tells me that they are not sealed off from the main sections of the Palace the way the public corridors are. Come on. _**Now**_ we will find out what has _really_ been going on in Bangalore!"


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-four**

  


"I do not like this," Kefira muttered softly to Jessie. "Something is not right." They stood with Jean-Paul and Jade at the top floor window of an old abandoned, multi-story warehouse situated across the street from the offices and central warehouse of Lakshmanan Shipping.

Jessie scanned the bustling street in the mid-morning sunshine. She could see nothing amiss. "What is it? Looks calm enough to me."

"Mr. Lakshmanan still has not arrived. It is not like him."

"Maybe he's just taking a day off," Paul suggested with a shrug, but Kefira shook her head sharply.

"No. Mr. Lakshmanan is like my father. His work is his life. It is what gives him a reason to get out of bed every morning. He would not be taking a day off in the middle of the week."

"You're sure he hasn't come in?" Jessie questioned. "You might have missed him."

"I do not believe so. I have known him for many years and I would have recognized him, even at this distance."

"Well, there's one good way to find out for certain," Jade said, rising determinedly. "Stay here. I'll be back."

"Wait a minute!" Jessie demanded. "Where are you going?"

"Why, down to see if Mr. Lakshmanan is available to speak with me. Hadn't you heard? I have some items I need to have shipped."

"You can't just walk in there and . . ."

Jade's laughter interrupted her. "Of course I can! Jessie, this is _my_ part of the world. China, Japan, the Philippines, Guam, India . . . I'm known throughout Indochina. Even if Mr. Lakshmanan and his people don't know me, it will take five minutes on the phone to confirm that I am who I say I am."

"Yes, and two minutes more will have the cops down on you!"

Jade snorted. "As if they could catch me! Furthermore, the last I knew, I wasn't wanted for anything in India. Just stay here. This won't take long." With that, she set off across the cavernous room at a brisk pace.

Jessie snorted in disgust as she turned away and sank down to sit, leaning against a large wooden barrel. "We may as well make ourselves comfortable."

"Is it true? Can she do what she says?" Kefira asked.

"She can do it," Paul replied as he sat down and leaned against the wall.

"How did you meet Jade, Jean-Paul?" Jessie asked idly.

He shrugged. "Just make it Paul. Jean-Paul makes me feel like I should be back in the gallery. As for Jade . . . I met her the same way we all met her. Ran into her as part of an operation in the orient. She wasn't always the most reliable in a firefight, but you could usually trust her information . . . if you could pay her price." He chuckled suddenly. "Except for Race. She must have had a soft spot for him, because it was very rare that he ever had to pay for anything he got from her, and I don't think she ever double-crossed him on anything."

Jessie laughed. "Wrong on both counts. He always had to pay her, one way or the other, and she double-crossed him more times than I can count."

"Ah, but she never left him hanging out to dry. She always saw to it that any time she used him, she left him safe. And when things got rough, she aways covered his back. That's more than you can say for most of the men she worked with. To be honest, I'm surprised you know her at all. I would have thought that Race would have kept his precious little girl as far away from the likes of Jade Kenyon as he could get. When did you meet her?"

Jessie shrugged. "I've known _of_ her most of my life, although the really involved tales I didn't hear until I got to know Jon and Hadji. They met her when they were about ten or eleven. I was about thirteen or so when I met her face-to-face." Jessie laughed a little. "She called my Dad . . . supposedly to help her out of a jam. Turns out she needed him as part of a scam to access a famous ruby she was trying to steal."

"Sounds like Jade," Paul agreed with a grin. "Did she manage to accomplish it?"

"Oh, she got it all right. Didn't end up getting to keep it, though."

Paul shook his head. "See. That's what I mean. Bannon's the only person I ever knew that could blow up a plan of Jade's like that and still remain on speaking terms with her. Never knew how he managed it."

"It's probably better we don't know," Jessie replied sedately. Stretching her legs out in front of her, she dropped her head back to rest against the wall and allowed her eyes to drift shut.

Paul contemplated the redhead for a minute and then said, "So tell me, Jessica, was what you told Jade on the vid-phone true? Did Race and Estella really get married again?"

"Yeah."

"And they're actually expecting another kid?"

"Yep."

"I'll be damned. Well, good for Race. I always thought they were a great couple."

Jessie opened one eye lazily and squinted at him. "Then you were the only one."

"Yeah, well, most of the others had their own agendas. They figured that Bannon's getting married would dull his edge and erode his value to the agency." He chuckled nostalgically. "That certainly didn't happen. I do think the breakup of his marriage had something to do with his chucking the company, though. Man, I've never heard the higher ups howl as loudly as they did the day he walked in and announced that he was quitting to go to work for Quest. They were seriously pissed about that! As for anyone else that didn't figure those two were well-matched . . . well, they just didn't really bother to look beyond the squabbles. Truth is, he was crazy about her and I think she was about him, too."

"She was," Jessie agreed with a slight smile. "Just took 'em a while to find a way to make it work."

"Never could figure out what went wrong between them."

Jessie shrugged. "Who knows? And frankly, it's none of my business. Whatever it was, they seemed to have worked it out. They're happier now than I've ever known them to be, and I guess that's all that counts."

"No arguing with that." Paul glanced over at Kefira who still watched the front of the building across the street. "Anything?"

"I saw her go inside, but she has not come out again."

"She didn't just walk out of this building and cross the street, did she?" Jessie asked, looking a bit more alert.

"No. She drove up in a car, parked it out front and walked in."

Jessie winced slightly. "Well, if she wasn't wanted in India before . . ."

Paul chuckled. "That's Jade. Furthermore, you never know . . . we may need the transportation."

"There she is," Kefira said suddenly.

Both Paul and Jessie rose hastily to join her at the window. They were just in time to see a large 4-door sedan with heavily tinted windows pull out and drive off. It disappeared from their range of view before they could see where it turned. There was no sign that Jade's visit had caused a stir of any kind in the business they were watching and she rejoined them about 15 minutes later.

"Well, it seems Mr. Lakshmanan has been out of the office for several days. Everyone was exceedingly pleasant and kept repeating how pleased he would be to talk with me about shipping my merchandise, however they simply couldn't tell me when they could schedule an appointment for me to meet with him. I got the feeling that they really didn't know what was going on. I'll say this much, though. They didn't like it. It's got them edgy." 

Jessie frowned. "I don't like it, either. What do you think, Kefira?"

"Something is definitely wrong," she said decisively. "I believe we must go to his house."

"Do we know how to get there?" Paul asked.

"I have an address and I know how to find the district in which he lives."

"We'll find it," Jade said confidently. "We might as well go. Waiting here isn't gaining us anything and I've got the car parked out back." She grinned at Jessie's pained expression. "No, I didn't steal it. I got far enough away from here on foot and then hailed a taxi and had him take me to the nearest rental agency. The car's currently being leased to one Monica Leveck."

"How did you know about that?" Jessie demanded.

Jade grinned. "Last night I took the opportunity to look at the passport you're carrying. Or should I say, passports? I just picked one." With a quick flick of the wrist, she tossed something to Jessie. When she caught it, she discovered it was the passport she'd had made up for "Monica Levek". At Jessie's glare, Jade just shrugged. "Hey, knowing that you would object to my 'borrowing' it, I just took it. I had to have _some_ form of identification when I rented the car . . ."

"Why not in your own name? After all, you're 'known all over the orient'!" Jessie shot back. Then she shook her head. Securing the passport in the inside pocket of her jacket, she said, "Never mind. I bet I already know the answer. And as much as I hate to admit it, she's right. This is getting us nowhere. We might as well move. Paul, you drive. You've just been promoted to chauffer."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


"That's the place," Jade said, checking the address one more time. After a somewhat lengthy search, the four of them had finally located the residence of Zail Lakshmanan. It was situated on the far north side of the city in a relatively wealthy section of Mumbai. The house sat on several acres of heavily wooded land and a high stone wall surrounded the property. Between the wall and the trees, they could see no sign of the house. "So how do we play this?"

"I'm really not inclined to drive up to that gate and announce to the world who we are and what we want," Jessie replied slowly.

Jade looked at her sharply. "Still uneasy?" Jessie nodded wordlessly.

"What's the chance that we'll run into something like dogs if we jump the fence and work our way up to the house?" Paul asked Kefira.

"I have never heard of Mr. Lakshmanan protecting his house with dogs, but I suppose it is possible," Kefira replied

"I think we risk it," Jessie said. "Let's find a place to park the car and get going. We've wasted enough time on this as it is."

Fifteen minutes later, the four of them were moving warily through the timber that ringed the grounds. The density of the undergrowth made progress difficult and Paul kept looking around uneasily. Finally, he asked, "You don't suppose the guy protects his house and grounds with tigers, do you?"

Jessie and Kefira exchanged a grin while Jade looked a bit startled at the thought. "I think it unlikely," Kefira said consolingly. "The last I knew, Mr. Lakshmanan had nine children, some of them very young. I do not believe he would risk their lives by using something as uncontrollable as tigers to guard his borders."

"Well, that's reassuring," he replied, sounding unconvinced.

A short time later, the trees and undergrowth thinned, and they began to catch glimpses of beautifully manicured lawns and gardens."

"This guy does all right," Jade said thoughtfully.

"Jade, I told you," Jessie said in a warning tone. "You leave this guy alone."

"Sure, honey, whatever you say . . ."

They knelt and watched the house cautiously for a few minutes. Finally, Jessie glanced over at Kefira. "So what do you think?" she asked.

"Everything appears quiet," the Indian girl replied. "The gardener is on the far side . . . I just saw him." Gesturing to the left, she indicated a large hedgerow. "I would suggest that calm and an attitude of being where we belong is the most likely to get us to the house safely. There will be a gap in the garden hedge somewhere along the side facing the forest. We can enter there and work our way casually back toward the house. If we run into anyone, we are simply out for a morning stroll in the gardens."

"That's a maze," Paul objected. "If we get lost in there . . ."

"And we're not exactly dressed for a morning stroll in the gardens," Jade added, gesturing to the two young women's black leather attire, and her and Paul's dark cargo pants and shirts. "What do we say if they ask questions?"

"I will deal with it," Kefira said confidently. "It will not be a problem."

Jade and Paul looked like they were about to protest again, but Jessie cut them off. "Good. Let's go!" The two young women set off immediately with their two older companions trailing along behind them reluctantly. It didn't take them long to locate the gate in the hedgerow, however it was secured by a sturdy gate that was securely locked. Once again, Paul balked.

"This is not a good idea!" he protested. "There's got to be a better way."

Finally, Jessie had had enough. She turned to him and said coldly. "You're right. There is. The two of you are going to stay here. Kefira and I will go in alone."

Both Paul and Jade immediately began to protest, but Jessie cut them off sharply. "No! It's a good idea to have some outside backup, anyway. I want the two of you to keep an eye on the place. Go back to where we first approached the grounds and wait. There was a pretty good view of the whole area from there." She checked her watch quickly. "If we haven't gotten word back to you in three hours, you can pick your own way in and come looking for us. But not before. Understand?"

"I don't like it," Paul said.

"You don't like much, do you?" Jessie replied sarcastically. "Just wait. We'll be back." Lacing her fingers together, she looked at Kefira and gestured to the gate. "Up and over." Kefira nodded economically and, placing her foot in Jessie's cupped hands, she launched herself for the top of the gate. Catching it firmly, she boosted herself up and disappeared over the top. An instant later a soft thump on the other side marked her landing. Almost immediately, the rattle of the gate latch could be heard, and then the gate swung open with a single loud squeak.

"Are you sure . . ." Jade began, but Jessie cut her off.

"I said wait," she replied firmly, and then she disappeared through the gate, closing it behind her with finality. 


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-five**

  


It was shortly after 9:00 p.m. when IRIS warned that there was a car approaching the main Compound gate. Estella was resting on the sofa in the family room, while she, Race and Barbara talked idly, searching for any topic of conversation other than that of Benton's illness or the lack of response from the kids. Benton was still out in the lab working, much to Barbara's discontent.

"Now who could that be at this hour?" Estella questioned

"Jon or Hadji?" Barbara suggested hopefully.

Race shook his head. "Unlikely. They wouldn't have had time to make the drive from Boston, and if they flew they would have used the airfield here, not Knox County Regional. Find out who it is, IRIS." 

The three of them waited uneasily until IRIS announced the arrival of their visitors. "You know them," Race said to Barbara's wordless exclamation of surprise.

"Yes. Let them in, IRIS. Ask them to come straight up the drive to the main house immediately."

"Who . . ." Estella began, but Barbara shook her head as she rose and headed to the front door.

"I'll introduce them when they arrive."

A few moments later, car doors slammed and Race and Estella could hear Barbara's indistinct greeting from the entryway. Then she led two men into the family room. The first was middle aged, tall and lanky, with sandy hair, faded blue eyes and a bushy mustache. The other man looked to be quite a bit younger and was much shorter, with swarthy skin, dark hair and eyes, and a presence that could be felt the instant he entered the room.

"Race, Estella . . . I'd like for you to meet Garrett Blackman and Stan Knight. Gentlemen, Race Bannon and his wife Estella Velasquez-Bannon."

"Jessica's parents," Garrett acknowledged in a surprisingly deep voice, stepping forward and offering Race a firm handshake as he rose to greet the visitors.

"Yes," Race acknowledged. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage . . ."

"Mr. Blackman is the president and CEO of Blackman Telecommunications, Race," Barbara explained. "He's also Jon's employer . . . and Mr. Knight is his immediate supervisor."

"I . . . see," Race said carefully.

"That's all right, Mrs. Bannon," Stan said suddenly, stepping forward. "There's no need for you to get up."

Both Race and Barbara turned to see Estella struggling to get to her feet. With mutual sounds of protest, the two of them converged on the sofa.

"Stop, Stel!"

"Estella, no!"

"Please, Mrs. Bannon," Garrett said smoothly, striding up and offering her a hand. "It's not necessary." He searched her face, and then smiled at her. "There's no doubt that Jessica is your daughter. She looks so much like you."

Estella smiled back at him, easing herself down against the cushions once more. Then she winced and rubbed her belly gingerly as the child she carried kicked sharply.

Garrett's smile widened into a grin. "Restless, is it?"

"You have no idea! I get the feeling she's going to be just like her older sister."

"Or _he_ is," Race reminded her. He stared hard at the two men as he sat down beside Estella and massaged her stomach gently. "But you didn't come all the way from Boston to give us compliments on our daughter." He waved the two men to seats. "What has happened to Jonny?"

"We don't know for certain that anything has happened to him," Garrett replied, " . . . or to Jessica, Jon's brother, or his fiancée. What we do know is that Jon and Jessica seem to have disappeared."

"You mean just vanished?" Estella asked with concern.

"Not precisely," Stan replied. "He came to me last Thursday to say that he had family problems and was needing some time off. I told him to take whatever time he needed. God knows, he's earned it. They left the office and that was the last time we've seen or heard from them."

"They?" Race questioned sharply. "Who's 'they'?"

"All four of them . . . Jon, Jessica, Hadji and Kefira. And there's something else you had better know," Garrett added quietly. "Kefira was hurt. Both she and Hadji had obviously been attacked. Hadji didn't appear to be more than shaken, but Kefira had been shot."

"Shot!" Barbara exclaimed, as Race and Estella murmured in distress. "How badly?"

"Not seriously," Garrett reassured them quickly. "A graze along her hairline. She was a bit dazed and pretty well exhausted, but Dr. Solomon assured all of them that she would be fine with a bit of rest."

"When I get my hands on those four, I'm gonna shoot all of them myself!" Race muttered darkly. "What the hell were they thinking, not telling us about this? So what happened?"

Garrett shook his head ruefully. "As you just pointed out, none of them tend to be very forthcoming. Jon is one of the most close-mouthed individuals I think I've ever met. He simply doesn't talk about personal things, so none of us know much for certain. We've got some speculations, which I don't think are too far off base, but we don't know for sure."

"So speculate," Race commanded.

Garrett sighed. "Well, let's start with what we _do_ know for a fact. Hadji and Kefira arrived at the office looking for Jon first thing on Thursday morning. They both looked seriously worse for wear . . . dirty, bruised, pushed to the point of exhaustion . . . there was no doubt that they'd been in a fight and were running from trouble. It was also obvious that Jon wasn't expecting them. Unfortunately, he shunted both of them off into a conference room, so none of us heard what was going on. They'd barely sequestered themselves when Jessica arrived. Jon wasn't expecting her, either. By that time, they were drawing too much attention and I decided they needed more privacy than a glass-walled conference room afforded them. I managed to get them into the penthouse and brought a doctor in to take care of Kefira. They stayed at the office for about two hours, and then Jon came to tell Stan that they had to leave because of a family situation."

"And you don't know any more than that?" Race asked in frustration.

"Just a few other isolated pieces of information," Garrett replied. "First, Jessica wasn't expecting Hadji and Kefira to be there, either. Something else brought her to the office that morning. Something that had her seriously upset before she ever walked in the door. But when she spotted them, she seemed to know immediately who was behind the attack. She said . . . and I quote . . . 'that goddamned bastard'. The other interesting thing occurred after Dr. Solomon had treated Kefira. Solomon was telling me that he needed to report a gunshot wound to the authorities. Jon specifically requested that he not do so, confirming that the attack was politically motivated and saying that the people who assaulted them would be watching for gunshot victims and were sure to try again."

Race looked thoughtful. "And all four kids seemed to know who was responsible."

"Yes," Garrett agreed. "Okay, so that's what I _know_. As for speculation . . ." he took a deep breath, looking troubled. "I _think_ they headed for Bangalore."

Race uttered a sharp curse and rose to begin pacing restlessly. In a hard voice, he commanded, "IRIS, do a search of all airline records from last Thursday and see if you can locate reservations for any of the family members. If nothing is found, search on Friday and Saturday. I want to know if any of those kids left the country in the last several days."

"ACKNOWLEDGED." The response to Race's orders caused Stan to look around in surprise, but Garrett didn't even blink.

"What makes you think Bangalore?" Race demanded.

"If my reading of those four is correct, only the strongest of threats to a close family member would cause them to ignore prior commitments. Three of them are right in the middle of the school term, and Jon is assigned to several important projects at work for which he knows his presence is crucial. Furthermore, I think _this_ is what brought Jessica to the office on Thursday morning." He tossed something onto the nearby end table and the others saw it was the article about Hadji's engagement from the Thursday morning paper. "I found that lying on the floor in my living room after the four of them left. I take it this announcement is significant."

"Yes," Race agreed grimly. "It has serious . . ."

"SEARCH COMPLETE. RECORDS INDICATE THAT JONATHAN QUEST AND HADJI SINGH HAD AIRLINE RESERVATIONS FOR LONDON WITH A DIRECT CONNECTING FLIGHT TO BANGALORE WHICH LEFT FROM LOGAN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT LAST THURSDAY NIGHT AT MIDNIGHT."

"Did they make that flight?"

"AIRLINE RECORDS INDICATE THE THAT TICKETS WERE USED, HOWEVER THE TICKETS FOR THE CONNECTING FLIGHT TO BANGALORE WERE NOT."

"Shit!" Race swore. "What about Jessie and Kefira?"

"THERE IS NO RECORD OF COMMERICAL AIRLINE RESERVATIONS FOR EITHER JESSICA BANNON OR KEFIRA SUBRAMANIAN AT ANY TIME DURING THE PRECEEDING FIVE DAYS." IRIS seemed to hesitate fractionally, then continued. "IT SHOULD BE NOTED THAT A FLIGHT SCHEDULED TO DEPART FOR BANGALORE FROM EGYPT TWO DAYS LATER WAS ATTACKED BY TERRORISTS WHILE STILL ON THE TARMAC."

"What's the significance of that, IRIS?" Estella questioned.

"TWO OF THE PASSENGERS SCHEDULED TO DEPART ON THAT FLIGHT WERE CARRYING PASSPORTS THAT ARE COMMON ALIASES USED BY MEMBERS OF THE QUEST FAMILY."

"Details!" Race snapped.

"VERY FEW APPEAR TO BE AVAILABLE. POLICE AGENCIES ARE NOT RELEASING ANY INFORMATION CONCERNING THE INCIDENT, HOWEVER, PASSENGER REPORTS STATE THAT THE ATTACKERS STRUCK SHORTLY BEFORE THE PLANE WAS SCHEDULED FOR DEPARTURE AND THAT THE ATTACKERS APPEARED TO BE LOOKING FOR SOMETHING OR SOMEONE SPECIFIC. ALL REPORTS SEEM TO AGREE THAT WHATEVER THEY WERE SEARCHING FOR THEY DID NOT FIND."

"They were forewarned," Barbara commented softly.

"Or their internal trouble radar kicked in," Race replied absently, thinking hard. "IRIS, I want you to call Hadji's number at school. It should have voicemail, but it's not picking up. I'm guessing the memory or tape or whatever he uses is full. I want those messages."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING."

"Another thing, IRIS," Estella interrupted. "Check FAA flight plans for the Quest jets in both New York and Boston. I want to know if either of those planes have taken off in the last five days." She glanced over at her husband. "You know as well as I do that those two women would never let Jonny and Hadji walk into something like that alone. And Jessie's not above commandeering equipment when she needs it."

"RECORDS INDICATE THAT JESSICA BANNON LEFT FROM LA GUARDIA AIRPORT ON SUNDAY EVENING USING THE QUEST LEAR JET."

"Destination?" There was a pregnant pause before IRIS replied, "QUEST COMPOUND, ROCKPORT, MAINE."

"I take it she never arrived," Garrett said, looking from one of them to the other.

"No," Race replied tersely. "IRIS, allowing for departure and travel time, scan all international arrival records for a plane of similar make and model. Don't limit it to a plane bearing Quest markings or identification. And start with airports that would be logical jump-off locations for a trip to Bangalore. I want to know where she went."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING."

"You think that all four of them have gone to Bangalore," Garrett observed, watching Race closely.

Race shrugged irritably. "I think that the business of announcing Hadji's betrothal forced his hand, and he made the decision to return to Bangalore to try to smooth things over. And considering the recent political climate over there, I don't think there's any way that Jonny would have let him go alone."

"What about Jessie and Kefira?" Barbara asked him. "Surely they would have gone with them."

Race shook his head. "This is just a guess, but I'll bet that because Kefira was hurt, the boys somehow managed to convince her to stay behind in relative safety to rest. And Jonny probably put pressure on Jessie to stay with her, arguing that Jessie needed to ensure her safety. But then Jonny and Hadji disappeared. Those kids have been drilled in emergency protocols since the day I walked into the Quests' life. In a situation like this, the old check-in schedule routine would have gone into place. Every twelve hours without fail, one of them should have been checking in with Jessie or Kefira. I'd say that they began missing the check-in schedule and Jessie and Kefira finally went after them."

"SEARCH COMPLETE," IRIS broke in. "A PLANE MATCHING THE BUILD SPECIFICATIONS OF THE QUEST LEAR JET LANDED IN MUMBAI AT APPROXIMATELY 9:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME MONDAY. THE PLANE BORE FRENCH REGISTERY AND OWNERSHIP IS LISTED AS BELONGING TO ANTON AND MONICA LEVECK."

"What did the flight plan indicate as the reason for the trip?"

"RECREATION. IT SHOULD ALSO BE NOTED THAT ALLOWING FOR JESSICA BANNON AND KEFIRA SUBRAMANIAN ON BOARD, A CALCULATION OF FLYING TIME, PREVAILING WIND CURRENTS, AND OVERALL WEATHER CONDITIONS AT THE TIME OF THE FLIGHT INDICATES THAT THE PLANE WAS MOST LIKELY CARRYING CARGO OR MULTIPLE ADDITIONAL PASSENGERS."

"So she and Kefira flew to Mumbai, and she had cargo with her," Race said slowly.

"What kind of cargo would she have taken with her, Race?" Estella asked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"It might," he replied, almost to himself. "If she knew there was trouble, it might make a lot of sense."

"RETRIEVAL OF MESSAGES FROM THE VOICE MAIL OF HADJI SINGH COMPLETE. A TOTAL OF 27 MESSAGES WERE RETRIEVED."

"Replay those messages dating from last Wednesday."

"WORKING. THERE ARE THREE MESSAGES DATING FROM LAST WEDNESDAY. TIME STAMPS INDICATED THEY WERE ALL RECEIVED IN THE MID-AFTERNOON. REPLAYING NOW."

  


_

*** BEEP ***

_

  


Hey, Hadji. It's Margie from your Calculus class. Does your offer still stand for some tutoring? I think I'm lost. If you're still willing, we'll discuss it more in class tonight. Later!

  


*** BEEP ***

  


Namastay, beloved. I received your message about dinner this evening. I will meet you downstairs at 6:00 p.m.

  


*** BEEP ***

  


Greetings, Excellency. This is Ambassador Tilak of the Indian Embassy. Your mother has asked that I provide an escort to Ms. Subramanian for her trip back to the Palace at Bangalore. I would pick her up at her own residence, however I do not have that location. Therefore, I will be at your apartment at 3:30 p.m. this afternoon. If you can arrange to have Ms. Subramanian there and prepared to leave I would appreciate it.

  


"Oh, I don't like the sound of that," Barbara said.

"Hadji wouldn't have liked it, either," Estella replied. "You can bet on it."

"Let's hear the messages from Thursday, IRIS," Race instructed.

"THERE ARE ELEVEN MESSAGES FROM THURSDAY."

  


_

*** BEEP ***

_

  


*** BEEP ***

  


Excellency, this is Vijay Patel. Events have occurred that I MUST discuss with you immediately. I will remain at this number for as long as I can . . . 91-022-555-8946 . . . If I must leave before you can call, I will leave word with someone here on how I may be reached. This is urgent, Excellency. Call me as soon as possible. Do **not** attempt to return here without contacting me first. This is of utmost importance. And whatever you do, Excellency, do **NOT** attempt to call the Palace. Telephone lines are not secure there.

  


*** BEEP ***

  


*** BEEP ***

  


*** BEEP ***

  


*** BEEP ***

  


Hi, Hadji. It's Margie again. I missed you in Calculus last night. If you could give me a call later today, I'd still appreciate that tutoring. My last class gets out at 2:00. You can reach me at home after that. Thanks.

  


*** BEEP ***

  


*** BEEP ***

  


*** BEEP ***

  


Excellency, my name is Tarang Kumar and I work for Rajeev Subramanian. It is extremely important that I talk with you as soon as possible. Mr. Patel has had to return to the Palace but he has asked that I contact you and inform you what has transpired here in the last two days. Please, Excellency, I am sure you are very busy, but it is vital that I speak with you. The number Mr. Patel left you yesterday is the one you should use. Do not call the Palace. It is not safe. I will remain here as long as I possibly can, but the situation is rapidly deteriorating. Call soon, Excellency. It is most urgent.

  


*** BEEP ***

  


Excellency, this is Arun Birla. I need to speak to you about an issue that has come before the Council. Please call me either at my office at the Palace or at home.

  


*** BEEP ***

  


"THAT IS THE LAST MESSAGE IN THE SYSTEM. THE FINAL ENTRY APPEARS TO BE AN OPEN LINE THAT USED THE LAST OF THE AVAILABLE MEMORY ALLOCATED TO THE VOICE MAIL PROGRAM. NOTHING FOLLOWS."

"There seems to be a recurring theme there," Garrett observed.

"I wonder about all the hang-ups," Stan commented. "The number seems excessive, doesn't it?"

Race looked thoughtful. "IRIS, that last message . . . is there anything about it that would pinpoint its origin?"

"ANALYZING FINAL MESSAGE . . . ANALYSIS COMPLETE. THERE IS NOTHING ON THE RECORDING TO INDICATE POINT OF ORIGIN, HOWEVER THE NATURE OF THE BACKGROUND LINE NOISE INDICATES AN OVERSEAS CALL."

"There's nothing other than line noise?"

"NEGATIVE."

"Mr. Bannon, may I?" Garrett asked.

"Please."

"IRIS, retain the message for analysis. Then, dial 617-555-2737 and provide a voice interface once the connection is made."

"ACKNOWLEDGED." They waited while IRIS placed the call. "CONNECTION MADE. VOICE INTERFACE ACTIVATED. I HAVE BLAKE FEARDAY ON THE LINE."

"Blake, are you there?"

"Mr. Blackman?"

"Yes. I need you to power up the telecom diagnostics software. I'm going to send you a blank message from a voice mail system. I need you to run it through diagnostics and break it down for me. I need to know the source of the transmission, down to name of the person owning the phone that placed the call, if possible, and I need for you to try to raise any background noise that might be there. It sounds like it may have been deliberately muffled. Let's see if we can get anything off of it."

"Got it. Ready to receive."

"IRIS, please send a copy of the final message now."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. TRANSMITTING NOW."

"Got it! Diagnostics running. It's going to take a few minutes."

"That's all right, Blake. I'll wait."

Blake cleared his throat and asked hesitantly, "Some of the guys here said that you and Stan left for Maine this evening. Did you find Jon?"

Race and Estella exchanged a look and then glanced sharply at Barbara, who's face seemed to be carefully blank.

"Not yet, but we're working on it. What are you doing there so late, anyway?"

Blake snorted. "Where else would I be? You know, with Jon around, I'd almost gotten used to having a life. I sure hope you find him soon. No one else seems to be able to keep anything running around here anymore."

A smile flickered briefly on Barbara's face, but Garrett frowned at the comment. "Did we have another failure?"

"Yeah. Lost the interface software program for the CAD system this evening."

"What was due to be running?"

"The test program for the new line design."

"It's still down?"

"Yeah, but I think Ted's almost got it. He's using a test technique Jon taught him and it seems to be working. Program's recompiling now. We should know in about ten minutes if we've got it fixed." Blake sighed. "I hope you find Jon soon, sir. This is getting worse and worse and we really _need_ him."

"I know, Blake. I'm working on it. Any luck with the phone message?"

"Here it comes now. Looks like it came in through an overseas trunk line. Connected through the Trans-Atlantic cable, main London switching center, across Europe and northern Africa to northern India. All through the old lines . . . nothing on a satellite bounce."

"Were you able to get an origination location?"

"No," he replied regretfully. "You know what diagnostics on those old lines are like. The best we can say is that it originated from somewhere in northern or northeastern India."

Garrett sighed. "I was afraid of that. What about the air time itself? Were you able to raise anything there?"

"It's still working on that. Hold on . . . " When Blake spoke again, his voice had changed and there was a grim note to it. "Most of it appears to be nothing but dead air, but early in the message it was able to raise one exchange."

"What was it?"

"Someone asked, 'What do I do now, sire?' and a second individual replied, 'Just sit there and wait until the line disconnects. I want to make certain no one can warn him.' And that's it."

"All right, Blake. Thank you."

"Jon's in trouble, isn't he?"

"We think he might be," Garrett acknowledged reluctantly, "but as I said, we're working on it."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Just hold the place together. We'll find him."

"Yes, sir."

Garrett grinned slightly. "He's rubbing off on you Blake."

"What?"

"I was never 'sir' to any of you until Jon came to work for us."

Blake laughed ruefully. "He's so damned polite all the time. It's getting to be a habit. Let us know, okay?"

"Yes. The four of you go home. I don't want you there all night."

"As soon as we get the system up and running again. Night."

"Good night, Blake."

"TRANSMISSION HAS BEEN TERMINATED FROM THE RECEIVER'S END. DO YOU WISH TO RE-ESTABLISH THE CONNECTION?"

"No, IRIS, I'm finished." Garrett turned to the others. "So does that information tell you anything?"

In the distance, a door slammed as Race replied grimly, "Yes, and I don't like the message much. I . . ."

"Race, is someone here?" Benton appeared at the family room door. He waved everyone back into their seats as they started to rise. "I thought maybe Jonny or Hadji . . ." He looked drawn and dark circles under his eyes emphasized the weariness and strain evident in his face. Disappointment was obvious as he gazed at the newcomers.

"No, not yet." Race paused for a fraction of an instant, considering his next words swiftly. Then, he continued almost seamlessly. "They had the opportunity to go to London. I'm still trying to track them down. Don't worry, Benton, I'll find them."

He nodded and they could all see him trying to pull himself together to greet the guests. Warned by a subtle change in expression, Barbara surged to her feet and leaped toward him just as his knees buckled. She caught him around the chest, but his weight was too great and the two of them sank slowly. His head lolled onto her shoulder and she held him close, trying to keep him from collapsing onto the floor. "Race . . ." she gasped.

Race leaped forward, Garrett only a step behind him, and they caught Benton, easing him back off of Barbara and lowering him gently to the floor. 

"Put him here," Estella commanded sharply, struggling to her feet with Stan's help. As Race and Garrett laid Benton gently on the sofa, Barbara ran upstairs and got her medical bag. By the time she got back downstairs, he was already starting to regain consciousness.

Benton gazed up at her with a dazed expression. "What happened?"

"You passed out again," she answered gently, pulling the stethoscope out of her ears and releasing the blood pressure cuff. "I want you in bed _now_. You can't keep pushing like this, Benton. You're accelerating the progress of the illness by exhausting yourself. You need to conserve your strength until we can get the boys home to help you." She looked up at Race. "Let's get him upstairs."

"You have guests. I can manage," Benton said, once Race had gotten him to his feet. "The hell you can," Race replied, drawing Benton's arm across his shoulder. "Come on, let's go. Barbara, can you go up ahead of us and get the bed turned down?" She nodded and headed for the stairs quickly.

Estella, Garrett and Stan watched until Race and Benton disappeared from sight. Then, Stan caught Estella's arm and began tugging her gently back toward the sofa, saying, "You need to lie down again." Estella frowned at him, but he didn't yield. "Lie down!" he insisted sharply. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry for my tone, but I recognize the symptoms, Mrs. Bannon. Toxemia is not something to play around with." He hesitated briefly and then added, "I lost my wife and our unborn son to it. I'd hate for that to happen to you."

Estella sank back onto the sofa, looking stunned. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."

"It's all right. Just follow your doctor's orders. Annie . . . my wife . . . got impatient with all of the bed rest. She pushed too hard, and . . ." He trailed off and shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes. Finally, he sighed softly and looked up with a pained smile. "I think a great deal of your daughter . . . and Jon. I'd hate to see either of them lose you."

She closed her eyes and nodded at him wordlessly. Suddenly, they snapped opened again and she gazed at Stan intensely. "Are they all right?" she asked him with an edge of desperation.

"Who?" he asked, confused. "Jon and his brother? We don't . . ."

"No. Jonny . . . and my daughter," she replied with difficulty. "They don't . . . talk . . . to us. Not since Jonny and his father . . ." She trailed off, the look of pain and loss tangible.

The two men exchanged a look as Garrett knelt beside her. "They're fine," he assured her gently. "We watch out for them. Jon is a valuable and very important part of our organization. Blake wasn't exaggerating with his comments about how desperately he is missed."

"And you have a remarkable daughter," Stan added. "She's intelligent and funny and caring, and loves Jon very much. She's very protective of him and supports him wholeheartedly in everything he does."

Estella smiled with a trace of sadness. "Yes, she does . . ." she replied. "She always has. And Jonny is the same way about her. It was hard to accept at first . . . the realization of how real their feelings for each other were. They're so young . . ." Then she sighed softly, gazing up blindly at the ceiling. "Not so young any more, I guess."

"That was the problem between Jon and his father?" Stan asked, watching Estella closely.

Her eyes snapped back to his. "It's the illness," she replied sharply. "Benton never would have behaved as he did otherwise. We know that now."

"Do they know it?" Garrett asked.

Her eyes fell under the man's steady gaze. "No," she whispered softly. "It's only been within the last few days that we've finally pinned down the source of the problem. And now we can't locate any of them."

"How sick is Dr. Quest?" Garrett asked gently.

She looked from one man to the other, then closed her eyes and lay there limply, obviously exhausted. "Very sick, and getting worse every day," she admitted heavily. "We desperately need the kids here to help with the research. Benton's rapidly reaching the point where he can't do it any longer. Race has to find them. We have no other choice."

"What about you . . . and Dr. Quest?" Stan protested. "Someone needs to be here with the two of you."

Estella sighed. "I know. But if he doesn't find them, Benton has no chance. Barbara's done all she can and so did all the doctors in Britain, but they were never able to find a cure. If there's an answer to be found, it's going to take IRIS and her analytic capabilities. And with Benton disabled, only Jonny, Hadji, and Jessie have the skill to accomplish it. Whatever the cost here, Race simply has to go after them."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


When Race and Barbara returned a short while later, the both looked spent. Race dropped into the nearest chair and rubbed his eyes, before saying, "Forgive my manners. Can I offer you anything? Dinner? Some coffee?"

Stan started to shake his head, but Garrett cut him off, replying, "I would love some coffee."

Barbara laid a hand on Race's shoulder, forestalling his attempt to rise. "Stay put. I'll get it." Then she turned and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

"How is he?" Garrett asked quietly.

"Sleeping," Race replied heavily. "Barbara shot him full of something that knocked him straight out. I doubt that he'll stir before morning."

"Is sedating him a good idea?" Estella asked. "His tendency to pass out is bad enough . . . what if he doesn't surface from the drug?"

Race shook his head, looking over at her. "Barbara seemed to feel the benefits outweighed the risks, and I'm not about to question her." He sat up with an alarmed look as Estella suddenly began to struggle for breath, her face flushing a bright red. "Are you all right, Estella? You don't look . . ."

But before he could finish, she went rigid. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she began to twitch spasmodically.

**"BARBARA!!!!!!!"** Race screamed wildly as he leaped toward his wife.

Stan was just a split second behind him. Snatching his handkerchief from his pocket, he made a roll out of it and forced it between her clenched teeth, being certain to catch her tongue under it. "Don't pin her down," he gasped, keeping her head as still as he could. "She'll hurt herself. Hold her wrists and ankles to keep her from striking something . . . "

Barbara appeared at a run. Yanking her medical bag open, she grabbed a small bottle and filled a syringe quickly. Turning to the woman on the sofa, she snapped, "Hold her arm." She injected the medication swiftly, and after a moment the spasms began to ease. A quick check of Estella's blood pressure confirmed Barbara's fears. She looked up at Race and commanded, "Start the chopper. We're not even going to try for the medical center here . . . we're going straight to Portland." Without a word, Race turned and sprinted for the front door. Turning to Garrett, she said, "Go upstairs. At the head of the stairs, turn right. In the second room on the left you'll find a blue fleece blanket on the end of the bed. Bring it to me." He nodded and left quickly. Then Barbara turned back to Stan.

The man still knelt at one end of the couch holding Estella's head. He had two fingers placed against her carotid artery and his eyes were glued to his watch. "97. It's dropping."

As Barbara pumped up the blood pressure cuff again, she asked, "What was it?"

"150."

Barbara swore. "What happened? Was she on her feet?"

"No. I think it was stress. She was extremely upset over Dr. Quest's collapse."

"Not to mention the news that her only child is off in the middle of a war zone and no one knows how to reach her," Barbara said grimly.

"That didn't help, I'm sure. She's not showing signs of coming around."

"No, she's not, and I don't like it."

"Has she gone into convulsions before?"

"No. She's been relatively stable. It's the only reason I haven't hospitalized her before this."

"Here it is," Garrett said, hurrying in the door and holding out the blanket. Outside, the thumping sound of a rapidly approaching helicopter could be heard.

"Help me," Barbara directed the two men. "We need to wrap her in this blanket and then I'm going to ask one of you to carry her out to the chopper. If I know Race, he'll set it down right outside the front door. I'm also going to ask that both of you stay here." She shook her head. "Neither Benton nor Race will like it, but we can't leave Benton alone and I don't dare stay behind with her in this condition." Rising, she moved out of the way as the two men began doing as she asked. "IRIS, medical emergency override."

"WORKING. VOICE AND BODY IMAGE SCAN VERIFY IDENTITY OF DR. BARBARA MASON. MEDICAL EMERGENCY OVERRIDE ACTIVATED."

"Update access list to Quest Compound to include Garrett Blackman and Stanley Knight. Main residence access only without additional approval. Lock down all high security areas. Upgrade Compound security."

"PLEASE SPECIFY UPGRADE LEVEL."

Barbara looked around helplessly. "I don't know, IRIS. Just make it better than it already is! Benton isn't able to do it and I don't know his designation levels."

"Upgrade to Level 2 status, IRIS," Race said, striding in the front door. "No admittance is to be permitted to anyone other than those designated as family members until notified otherwise." Turning, to Garrett and Stan, he said, "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave . . ."

"No!" Barbara said sharply. "IRIS, cancel that. Upgrade to Level 2 security and deny admittance to all but family members, Blackman, Knight, and emergency medical personnel should they become necessary. Blackman and Knight are not to leave the residence, nor are they allowed in the study, the Bannon's downstairs suite, or the work area of Benton's room. They may have access to the rest of the house and the grounds between here and the main gate, but only to leave the facility."

Race started to protest, "Barbara, I can't allow . . ."

"Don't argue with me," she snapped, cutting him off swiftly. "There's no time." She turned to the two men. "Do you understand your limitations?"

"Yes," Garrett replied immediately. "What do you need us to do?"

"Just keep an eye on Benton. He should sleep through the night, but in case he doesn't, he is NOT to do anything other than go straight back to bed. He is not go back to work. IRIS, if he tries it, you are to lock him out of the lab, do you understand?"

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

"He won't remember you," Barbara continued to the two men, "but IRIS will confirm that you are here under my direction. He doesn't know his sons are missing. Don't tell him. I'd also prefer that you don't tell him about Estella unless you are absolutely forced into it. In the event of a dire emergency, dial 911 and get the paramedics out here. I'll phone them from the chopper and let them know that if they get a call, they are to get out here ASAP. Questions?"

Garrett looked over at Race. "Is there a vid-phone I can use? I've got some contacts that may be of use in locating Jon and his brother. If I can have access to that, I'll see if I can get the ball rolling."

Race hesitated, clearly torn. Barbara laid an encouraging hand on his arm.

"I know they're strangers to you, Race, but you _can_ trust them. I promise you." Then she smiled at him. "If it helps, just remember that Jessica trusts them with the most precious thing in the world to her, and you know how suspicious she is."

Finally, he sighed in defeat. "All right. There's no time to argue about it. IRIS, allow them access to the study for use of the vid-phone only." Turning, he bent down, gathered his wife into his arms, and then straightened once more. "Show them where it is, Barbara, while I get Estella into the chopper. If you aren't out in two minutes, I'll go without you." Almost before he finished the sentence, Race turned on his heel and strode out of the house into the darkness.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty-six**

  


Kefira and Jessie met no one in the gardens of the Lakshmanan property and before long they approached the house. It also appeared very quiet and Jessie hesitated at the edge of the beautifully manicured lawn.

"Not the front door," she murmured softly to her companion.

"No," Kefira agreed immediately. "Let us try the terrace." Squaring their shoulders, the two young women set out across the lawn with a determined stride. No one appeared to question their approach and before long they had mounted the steps and crossed to the terrace doors. Looking around to be certain they were not being observed, Kefira reached out and tried the handle.

"Locked," she told Jessie in a low voice.

"Not a problem," the redhead replied. She glanced around quickly once again, and then stepped up to the door. Kefira didn't see what she did, but with a soft metallic 'snick', the door popped open. The two slipped in and closed the door behind them softly.

"Now where?" Jessie breathed.

Kefira motioned with her head and set off swiftly. As they advanced, Jessie looked around the house with interest. It appeared to have been styled after the elegant British homes of the Victorian era. Rooms were high-ceilinged with slow-moving ceiling fans that stirred the air languidly. They had entered into what appeared to be a morning room or conservatory. They moved from that room into a long hallway lined with paintings. At the end, it opened into a large, open reception area. A staircase led to a second floor, and on the far side, they both saw a doorway that looked to lead to a matching corridor on the other side of the house. The two of them hung back in the doorway, listening carefully. Muted voices could be heard coming from the other side of the reception area. They both shied back into the shadows as a young girl dressed in a light-colored sari and carrying a tray laden with food crossed the reception area and climbed the stairs to the second level. After a long moment, Kefira gesture again and the two slipped out and crossed silently to the staircase. They ascended quickly, pausing at the top of the stairs. The girl had turned left and Kefira quickly followed her. A moment later, she ducked into a convenient doorway as the girl stopped at the far end of the floor and, balancing the tray carefully, knocked at the door there. An indistinct male voice replied, at which point the girl opened the door and entered. Jessie and Kefira moved in swiftly. Easing the door open just slightly, both heard a man's voice speaking in a calm, steady tone.

"You must eat." A low, indistinct voice replied.

Kefira's eyes flicked to Jessie's. _Mr. Lakshmanan,_ she mouthed silently to her companion.

_Who is the other one?_ Jessie mouthed back at her.

Kefira just shook her head.

"Please . . . eat," the man said patiently. "You have taken nothing since you arrived. It will not do to allow your strength to fade. We search, but you know that it must be done quietly. We risk much if your enemies find out you are here."

Neither of the young women heard a response. Silently pulling her gun, Kefira gripped the door handle and gestured for Jessie to follow. Then she shoved the door open and sprang into the room, her weapon leveled. What she saw froze her in her tracks.

A young girl stood on the far left side of the room not far from the windows. A middle-aged man stood behind a desk in the middle of the room facing the door, and the girl Kefira and Jessie had followed stood across the desk from him next to the tray she had set down on its surface. The girl by the windows had been facing the other two and had seen the door burst open. At the sudden movement, she had brought the rifle she still held to bear. The two stared at each other across their leveled weapons in disbelief.

"Maia?" Kefira gasped, and at the sound of her voice, the girl dropped her gun and pelted across the room to throw herself into her sister's arms. Kefira hugged her tightly as the child burst into tears and clung to the older girl frantically. Jessie kept her weapon trained on the other two people as she crossed the room and picked up the rifle that Maia had dropped. As she did so, she spotted a second child . . . a young boy . . . lying on a sofa against the wall. Crossing the room, she propped the rifle against the wall in the corner, and then knelt to check him carefully. He appeared to be sleeping the sleep of the exhausted.

"Kefira," Jessie called to her. Kefira's head snapped up and she spotted the two at the sofa. Hugging her little sister even closer, she lifted the child off the floor and moved swiftly to where Jessie knelt. At her approach, Jessie stepped aside and then reached for the gun the other woman still held. "Give me that," she said quietly. Kefira immediately surrendered the gun and, still clutching her sister, bent to check on her younger brother.

Sliding Kefira's gun into her shoulder holster, Jessie turned back to the other two people in the room. "I'm assuming that you are Mr. Lakshmanan," she said to the middle-aged man in an even tone. Her own weapon was still held at ready, but she did not level it at the man.

He swallowed twice before he managed to reply. "Yes."

"Is your house secure? No one is holding you here against your will?"

Mutely, he shook his head. Then he took a deep breath and in a relatively steady voice, he asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm with her," Jessie replied shortly, gesturing toward Kefira. Then she snapped the safety on, tucked her pistol into the waistband at the small of her back, and turned back to Kefira and her siblings. The boy still slept, oblivious to what was going on, as Kefira tried to calm her sister enough to get answers from her.

"Hush, Maia. It is all right. I am here. Can you tell me . . . what are you doing here? Where are father and mother?"

The child struggled valiantly to get herself under control as she tried to get her message out. "Mother said . . . told me . . . had to give you . . . a message . . . Then the men came . . . made us hide in the garden . . . and . . . and . . ." Tears came uncontrollably once more and child gasped and couldn't continue. Kefira knelt down in front of her and hugged her again. The look she gave Jessie as the other young woman knelt next to her was fearful. Jessie reached out and stroked the child's head gently.

"I know it's hard, Maia, but it's okay now. Please, can't you tell us what happened?"

The child stared at Jessie with huge, frightened eyes. Bewilderment pushed some of the shock back and Maia sniffed loudly and asked, "Who . . . who are . . . you?"

Kefira laid a hand on the side of the child's face and smiled at her. "She is my very best friend in the whole world, and she has come to help me. You said a message, Maia. From mother? What were you to tell me?"

The child gasped once more and then rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes hard, trying to gather her wits. "S-she said I was to say . . ." The child paused again, and then her eyes closed and her expression stilled. Both women got the feeling that she was searching for something. When she spoke again her voice was flat and steady, and she almost seemed to age before their eyes. "She said I was to say these words to you . . . 'War is come, the Sultan is not to return under any circumstances, and Rajeev begs shelter for his children from Dr. Benton Quest.' And then she sent us away."

Kefira hissed as she exhaled sharply. Her gaze was bleak as her eyes locked with Jessie's for an instant. Then her focus returned to her sister. Maia's eyes were open again and an unnatural calm had settled over the girl as she stared at her sister. "Tell me what has happened, Maia. Where are mother and father?"

The girl's face twisted for an instant and then that implacable calmness returned. In a flat, uninflected voice, she replied, "They are dead. The Janissaries murdered them."

Kefira stiffened and paled noticeably. "Dead? Are you certain?"

"Yes. They came from all directions. Mother made us hide in the garden and lured the men away so that we could escape out of the back gate. She sent us into the mountains . . . said if she and father did not come by nightfall that we were to flee through the mountain passes to Mr. Lakshmanan. Srinivasan and I watched from above as the Janissaries shot them down. Then they set fire to the house and burned it to the ground." That calm facade broke for a second and the grieving child shone through once more as she added, "They were still there . . . all of my friends . . . Deepti and Lali and Paven . . . and . . . and Usha . . ."

Kefira closed her eyes, grief and horror etched in her face as she drew her sister into her arms once more. "They burnt the house with all of them still inside?" she whispered hoarsely. Maia nodded wordlessly against her shoulder. They remained that way for a long moment and then Kefira pushed the child back to stare at her again. Tightly controlled fury had replaced shock as she demanded, "Who, Maia? Who did this? You said Janissaries, but they do not operate without orders. Who directed them to do this?"

Maia shook her head. "I do not know his name," she replied. Jessie was struck by the identical expressions of rage on the faces of the two sisters as the younger girl added, "but I had seen him before. He was the man that came with the Lady Neela to see you and Father right before you went to America."

_**"Arun Birla!"**_ Kefira spat venomously. She rose to her feet and hugged her sister to her side protectively. "What do you know of this?" she demanded of Mr. Lakshmanan harshly.

The man shook his head. "Nothing more than what she has said. She came to me with her brother two days ago. They were exhausted and terrified. She would say little other than that she had been sent by your mother and that it was vital that she speak with you. I did not realize until she arrived that you were not in the home of your father, and then I did not know how to reach you. The only information she could provide me was the name of Benton Quest, and when I attempted to contact him, I could never get beyond a woman named Iris. She would not allow me to speak with Dr. Quest and I did not think it wise to leave a message that an enemy could trace back here. It was not until this morning that she told me the story of your parents' death."

"And what news is coming out of Bangalore?"

Again, Lakshmanan shook his head. "Very little. I attempted to call your family's home right after Maia and her brother arrived, but the line appeared to be out of order. I also tried the number I have for your father at his main mine, but was unable to get through there, either. Rumors of fighting in the countryside are circulating and I know that all of the ports of entry have been closed. There is also a rising tide of refugees attempting to cross into India. Janissary troops are holding the borders and most of the refugees do not get through, but those that do are telling stories of atrocities committed by these troops against the people of the rural areas."

"What of word of the Sultan?"

"Nothing. I have heard speculation among government officials about the possibility of his death, but there is no official word from Bangalore."

"So he's still alive," Jessie said with relief. Kefira's look said she was not quite so certain and Jessie smiled at her confidently. "He's tough, Kefira. So's Jon. If Birla isn't publicly proclaiming him dead, then he's still with us. All we've gotta do is find them."

After a minute, the Indian girl took a deep breath and nodded. "You are right. We must continue."

"Let's get the others and then we can make plans for our next step." Jessie turned away from Kefira and her sister and smiled at the girl with the tray. "I have an errand for you if Mr. Lakshmanan will permit," she said to the girl in perfect Hindi. Jessie watched as her eyes widened in surprise. Then she looked up at the man who stood beside her questioningly. He hesitated briefly and then nodded. Quickly, Jessie shrugged out of her black bomber jacket and handed it to the girl. "Put this jacket around your shoulders and go out to the far side of the gardens near the shrubbery maze. There are two people out there waiting for us. If they have not approached you by the time you reach the edge of the gardens, just wait. They will come. When they approach you, you are to tell them that Monica Leveck says that it is clear and that they are needed at the house. Then you are to lead them here. Do you understand?" The girl nodded silently. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes, my father insists that we learn several languages," the girl replied in heavily accented but understandable English.

Jessie smiled at her again. "Good. Perhaps the woman speaks Hindi, but I do not think that the man who waits for us does." Jessie knelt down in front of the girl and laid a hand on her shoulder. "What is your name?"

"Juhi."

"Well, Juhi, I do not want you to be afraid. These people may appear very suddenly and with no warning, and they may sound very gruff . . . particularly the man . . . but they will not hurt you. I promise. Do you think that you can do this for Sultana Singh and I?"

The child gasped and her eyes grew even bigger as she turned an awed gaze on Kefira, who stared at Jessie in astonishment. "She is the Sultana? The real one?" the child whispered.

"Yes, she is. Will do you this thing for her?"

The child's eyes snapped back to Jessie's and she clutched the jacket to her tightly. "Yes! I will go right away and do just as you ask."

Jessie rose to her feet as the child turned toward the door. Then Juhi stopped, turned back again, and executed a formal bow to Kefira. "By your leave, Sultana . . ." she whispered.

Kefira gathered her scattered wits and nodded to the child, who turned and scurried out. Kefira stared after her for a moment and then looked back at Jessie. "Are you certain that was a wise idea? She is sure to tell her mother and her friends and word will spread quickly that a woman claiming to be the Sultana of Bangalore has been seen in Mumbai."

Jessie shrugged as she strode over to the windows to watch for the girl. "It's a calculated risk, but one we have to take, I think. If things are as bad as they sound, the more pressure we can put on Birla, the better. He's struggling to consolidate his hold on the country and I think our logic is still sound. Hadji is free and a threat, or Birla would have proclaimed himself Sultan by this time. I'd also take bets that Neela is causing someone ulcers, too."

"Yes . . . Hadji," Kefira replied bitterly as she sat Maia down in a nearby chair and went over to check on her brother.

"No, not any more," Jessie replied quietly, turning back to the room. "Kefira, Neela may be a lot of things, but this much I do know . . . she loves her son. However misguided her actions may have seemed, I know that she was only doing what felt she was in Hadji and Bangalore's best interests. And as for her supporting Birla and his actions . . . that ended the instant he began using the Janissaries. It was members of that group that murdered Haresh, and Neela suffered horribly at their hands under Deepak and Vikram. She would never willingly permit them to rise to power again."

"All right, I can accept that," Kefira replied grudgingly after a moment. "You have more personal knowledge of her than I do. But I still do not see what good can come of making our marriage public."

"It divides Birla's attention . . . gives him something _else_ to worry about. You're right . . . word will spread like wildfire, particularly once we get into Bangalore itself. And I'm banking on your father and Hadji's popularity with the people. They will rally around you, adding even more pressure. And a man under pressure is one who makes mistakes."

Lakshmanan had been looking from one young woman to the other with a dumbfounded look on his face, not sure what to make of these two. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke up hesitantly. "Ms. Subramanian, I do not believe your father . . ."

"Singh," Kefira said flatly, just as Jade and Paul walked in the door. They both came to an abrupt halt, staring at her. "My name is Singh . . . Kefira Singh." A subtle change came over her as she squared her shoulders and lifted her head proudly, as though coming to some kind of monumental decision. She eyed them all with a regal look and her tone allowed no room for argument as she added, "I am the first and only wife of Hadji Singh, rightful ruler of the independent nation of Bangalore, and Sultana by right of that marriage."

You could have cut the silence with a knife.

It was Maia that shattered the tableau. Lurching to her feet, she stumbled forward to face her sister. Drawing herself up, she bowed regally and said, "Excellency, I ask for redress."

Kefira observed her sister closely for a long moment before she replied distantly, "I see you, Maia Subramanian. State your grievance."

"Excellency, six days ago men came to the home of my family. These men shot my father and my mother, burned our home, and left my young brother and myself with nothing." Maia's eyes glittered with the force of her pent up rage, and Kefira stood silently for a long moment looking at her.

"And what is it you seek as redress for these actions?"

"I want them to pay for what they have done," the girl cried shrilly. "I want to see them shot down and left in the dirt the way they left my mother and father. I want to watch them burn alive as my nursemaid and my friends did. I want them to suffer!"

The silence stretched out uncomfortably as Kefira stood staring at her younger sister. Finally, in a surprisingly gentle voice, she asked, "Is this the way you were raised, Maia Subramanian? Vengeance is not the Hindi way and all of your life you have followed the path of Brahman. Would you now throw away all that you have believed in?"

Tears brimmed in Maia's eyes and spilled over. "The Goddess Kali teaches that destruction is as much a part of the natural order of the universe as serenity. My father was a good man. He cared for the people that looked to him and concerned himself with their needs. It is not right that the men who did this thing should not be punished."

"Would you then choose to become a follower of the Order of Kali . . . to devote yourself to the study of the more violent side of the world and her people? This has never before been your path of choice." Kefira sighed softly. "They shall be punished, Maia Subramanian, and you shall have redress for your grievances. In this you may rest easy. But it will not be done in anger. Rather, it will be handled according to the laws of our land and to our customs. I swear to you that I will take your grievance to the Sultan and justice will prevail. But you must leave this in other hands and be satisfied with the result."

All of them could see the girl gathering herself to protest, but Kefira's gazed locked with her younger sister's, keeping the girl silent. Finally, Maia bowed once more and said somewhat sullenly, "It shall be as you command, Excellency."

Suddenly, Kefira's regal bearing dropped away and she reached out and caught the girl's chin, forcing her head up so their eyes locked. "They will not go unpunished, sister. I swear to you." Maia sniffed loudly and rubbed her hand across her eyes again before she nodded.

"Perhaps it is not my place to offer advice, Excellency," Mr. Lakshmanan said quietly, "but Maia has refused to rest or eat properly since she arrived at my house. She brought herself and her younger brother out of Bangalore over the high passes, and traveled all the way to Mumbai with no assistance from anyone; and she managed this without your enemies becoming aware that she had escaped their trap. Once here, she continued to insist on the urgency of her need to reach you or the Sultan so that she could pass on the message entrusted to her by her parents. Now, she needs nourishment and sleep."

"Singleminded . . . just like her older sister," Jessie was heard to murmur softly from her position at the window overlooking the lawn and gardens.

Kefira smiled at Maia as she replied, "I thank you for your advice, Mr. Lakshmanan. There is much wisdom in your words. Can I once again impose on your daughter to lead my sister to a place where she may do these things?"

Juhi stepped forward eagerly and bowed so deeply, she overbalanced and had to stagger a bit to keep from falling over. Kefira's smile widened as she placed her hand on the girl's shoulder to steady her. "Go with her, Maia. I will join you later. And I want you to take our brother with you." Turning, she knelt and ruffled the boy's hair. "Vassey . . . Vassey, wake up."

The child's dark, thick lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes reluctantly. He blinked blearily, and finally asked, "Kefa?"

"Yes. I need for you to go with Maia, Vassey. Can you do that?"

Awareness grew in the boy's eyes and suddenly they all saw his bottom lip begin to tremble and tears suddenly spilled over. "There were bad men, Kefa. They hurt Mama and Papa."

"I know, Vassey. I know. And I have to talk with these people about it. I need for you to go with Maia now so that I can do that."

"I want to stay with you," he said, starting to cry harder. Suddenly he wailed, _**"I WANT TO GO HOME!"**_

Kefira gathered the boy to her and hugged him consolingly. "I know, Vassey. But if I am to find a way to do that, I need to meet with these people. If you will go with Maia now, we will talk about it in a little while. Can you do that for me?"

Maia stepped up and caught her little brother by the hand. "Come on, Vassey. Juhi has promised us sweets before we go back to sleep again. Let us go find some, okay?"

Reluctantly, the boy released Kefira and allowed himself to be led out of the room by his sister. As the door closed, Kefira turned to Jessie. "Things are much worse that we feared," she said tightly, her fists clenched.

Jessie nodded, straightening from her lounging position against the wall. "No question about that." She looked at the other woman carefully. "You okay?"

"Yes." Kefira took a deep breath, and Jessie could see the tightly leashed fury that burned in her eyes. "Now is not the time to grieve for my parents. There are other matters . . . other people we must concern ourselves with."

"There's not much left we can do," Paul observed. "With the situation in Bangalore this bad, our best bet is to head back to the States with Kefira's brother and sister and see if we can get the State Department to put pressure on the Bangalorian government to locate Sultan Singh."

"That's next to useless," Jade said in disgust. "The revolutionary faction in Bangalore isn't going to care if the U.S. State Department is screaming to know Hadji's whereabouts."

"They will once they realize that his disappearance is likely to cause an international incident . . ."

"There is no time any longer," Kefira continued to Jessie as though no one else had said a word.

"No. No choice but to move forward quickly. First things first . . . we've got to make arrangements to get your brother and sister out of here."

"Now wait just a minute!" Paul exclaimed. "Surely you're not thinking of . . . "

Jessie turned to Lakshmanan, cutting Paul of sharply. "Is there a telephone I can use? It will be an overseas call . . ."

The man gestured toward the desk. "There is both a standard phone and a vid-phone that you are welcome to use. As for Maia and Srinivasan, they are welcome to remain here . . ."

Kefira shook her head, beginning to pace restlessly as Jessie moved to the desk. "Your offer is generous, sir, but I cannot ask you to put yourself or your family in such jeopardy. Word of my marriage _will_ spread rapidly and our enemies will be sure to attempt to trace the source of the rumors. And that is sure to bring to light Maia's flight from Bangalore with my brother. Two children of their age on their own . . . armed and with money . . . will be remembered. It is vital that they be removed from your home so that our enemies do not think you hold anything that could be used as leverage against either my husband or I."

"Surely you can't still be thinking of going into Bangalore?" Paul demanded again, his eyes flicking from one young woman to the other. "It's suicide!"

"I'm afraid he's right, Jess," Jade said, as the vid-phone began to ring, attempting to make the connection. "With things this bad, if you enter the country, you are sure to be captured. And you have to know it's the worst thing that could happen right now. With Hadji missing . . ."

"QUEST COMPOUND. HOW MAY I HELP YOU?"

Turning from the people in the room, Jessie demanded, "IRIS, it's Jessie. Let me talk to my dad." She glanced up at Kefira, "What time is it anyway."

Kefira glanced at her watch quickly. "Almost one . . . it will be nearly midnight there."

Jessie grimaced. "Sure to be getting them out of bed then . . ."

Abruptly, the monitor on the vid-phone flared to life, and Jessie stared at the image dumbfounded.

"Jessica?"

"Mr. Blackman?" she said incredulously. "What are you doing there? Where's my dad?"

Garrett Blackman replied with tightly controlled urgency, "Jessica, is Jon with you? And his brother? They are needed here . . . _**immediately**_."

"They aren't here right now. What's happened?"

"It's Dr. Quest. He's extremely ill."

"Define 'ill'," she said in a hard voice.

Blackman hesitated for an instant and then replied bluntly, "He's dying."

Kefira made a strangled sound as she came around the desk so she could see the vid-phone monitor. Jessie stared at the man blankly. "Dying? What do you mean? He can't be dying! I know he wasn't well, but Dr. Mason couldn't even find anything wrong with him."

"I don't know the details. All I know is that whatever it is, it's the same thing that's caused him to behave so strangely over the last several months and it's escalating. Evidently, there may be some hope of finding a cure for it, but he's getting too ill to continue the research. He needs both Jon and Hadji's skills to find a solution. And time's running out."

Jessie swore softly and ran a hand over her hair in an unconscious parody of one of her father's gestures, as Kefira looked down at her. "You could go back . . . help Dr. Quest with the research . . . while I go after them."

Jessie met her gaze and shook her head. "No. If it's lunacy for both of us to go, there's no question it's suicide for you to go alone. Someone you can trust has to be at your back. Furthermore, no matter how good I am in theoretical research, the one he _needs_ is Hadji. He's the one with the ability to make the intuitive, cutting-edge leaps. I'm the hardcore researcher . . . I'm good at the detailed analysis that proves or disproves the theories Hadji and Dr. Quest come up with, and Jonny excels at applying the results to everyday problems. It's why we make such a formidable research team . . . our strengths compliment each other." She hesitated and then added bleakly, "And, if it comes down to a choice between Dr. Quest's life and the welfare of the entire population of Bangalore . . . well, I know what Dr. Quest would expect of me."

"They aren't with you, then." Blackman said.

"No."

"In Bangalore." Blackman said heavily, making it a statement rather than a question. "Are they alive?"

"To the best of our knowledge. Where's my father? I need to talk to him."

But Blackman shook his head. "He's not here."

"What do you mean, 'not here'?" she demanded. "Dad wouldn't leave Dr. Quest if he was ill!"

Suddenly, from behind Blackman, Jessie saw Stan Knight appear. "He's with your mother, Jessica," he replied quietly.

All the color drained from Jessie's face. "What's wrong with Mom?"

"She was taken to Maine Medical Center in Portland this evening. She's having problems . . ."

"The baby?" Jessie asked with a sinking feeling. Stan nodded. "What does Dr. Mason say?"

"She's suffering from pregnancy-induced hypertension . . . toxemia. She was bedridden, but they'd had it under control . . . until tonight. We don't know her status yet. We're still waiting to hear."

"Why the hell didn't they tell me?" Jessie demanded angrily.

"Why haven't you told them what's been going on in your life?" Stan countered evenly. "Why did your mother have to ask me how you and Jon are doing and if you are happy? And why did your parents have to find out that the four of you were in India by tracing airline arrival and departure records?"

Jessie's lips thinned in anger, but with an effort she controlled her temper. "All right, listen. We'll get Jon and Hadji home just as quickly as we can, but we have to find them first and that may take some time." Her eyes flicked up to her companions. "Jade, I need that plane. Something we can do a parachute drop out of. And it needs to meet us in Delhi."

"When?"

"By nightfall. I'll leave it to you to arrange the meeting location." Jade nodded and turned to speak quietly to their host as Jessie looked back at the images of the men on the vid-phone once more. "In the meantime, I need for you to give my father a message. Tell him . . ." She hesitated, and suddenly she almost seemed to sag as though the weight of the world had descended onto her shoulders. "Tell him that Kefira's parents are dead . . . murdered by the man trying to engineer the coup in Bangalore. Tell him that her younger brother and sister managed to escape and that Rajeev's last request was that Dr. Quest provide shelter for them. They aren't safe here. So before we leave for Bangalore, we'll see that they're safely on a plane for Maine with someone that I know my father trusts. This person will bring Maia and Srinivasan directly to him there at the Compound. Tell him that he is likely to hear rumors that Hadji and Kefira are married, that those rumors are true, and that if he is asked by _anyone_ . . . Admiral Bennett, the Indian ambassador, reporters . . . he is to tell them so in no uncertain terms. He's not to be afraid to broadcast the news openly."

"Details would help," Blackman said quietly, jotting notes on a pad of paper in front of him.

Jessie's gaze flicked up to Kefira. "We were married on October 19th at 9:00 p.m. in New York City by the Honorable Justice Steven Eversol," Kefira replied quietly and without hesitation. "And we exchanged our Vows of Faith in the presence of family on October 20th at 4:30 p.m., permanently sealing the union per Hindu custom."

Blackman nodded without looking up. "What else?"

"Tell him that if he has any connections with the government that he can use to bring pressure to bear on Bangalore, it would help a lot."

Blackman's gaze sharpened. "What kind of pressure?"

"Anything. I need the man behind the coup in Bangalore to have his hands full."

Blackman smiled coldly. "I'll tell your father, but I believe I can help you with this issue myself. Between the two of us, we'll turn up the heat. Anything else?"

"Tell him . . ." And then she faltered. After a moment, she continued slowly, "Tell him that I'm sorry for everything that's happened and that I love him and mom very much. And tell him that I'll do my best to make him proud of me."

Blackman shook his head and said quietly, "You don't need to worry about that, Jessica. They already are . . . extremely proud of you. Just find Jon and bring him home so he has the chance to make peace with his father. From everything I've been told, the circumstances that caused the rift between the two were a direct result of the illness Dr. Quest is suffering from. They both deserve the chance to clear the air and start over. You all do."

After a moment, Jessie nodded. "Don't worry. I'll get him there," she replied in a determined voice. "One way or the other."


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty-seven**

  


"I do not want to hear excuses," Arun Birla said ominously. "I want to hear that you have found Neela Singh and that she is safely locked in the dungeons."

"And what purpose would it serve for me to tell you that, _Excellency_?" the Captain of the Janissary guard questioned sarcastically. "Particularly since it is not true."

Birla stared at the man with intense dislike. He was arrogant and swaggering and showed absolutely no respect . . . but he was ruthlessly good at what he did, so he had been prepared to overlook much. The man was beginning to try his patience, however . . .

"Have a care, Captain," he warned ominously. "Your tone borders on treason."

The other man laughed derisively. "Or you will do what? Have me shot? Then where would you be? My men would not follow you. They are only too aware of how you treat subjects you no longer have any use for. And the truth is that your Royal Guard is still loyal to the Sultan. You certainly cannot trust them!"

"_I_ am Sultan!"

"No, you are not. As long as Hadji Singh and his mother remain alive, you will _never_ be Sultan. You have miscalculated, Excellency. Singh is much more popular than you anticipated, as are his allies. You should never have murdered Rajeev Subramanian. His death has galvanized the rural populace. You expected them to be like sheep, running and hiding at the first sign of trouble. Instead, you have gotten tigers . . . young, untrained and still learning to hunt, true . . . but tigers, all the same. Not only do they fight when cornered, they have taken to stalking their prey . . . deliberately seeking out the enemy with an intent to destroy. The only thing that is saving you right now is that they are still disjointed . . . they have no strong leader. If the Sultan reappears to lead them . . .

"Hadji Singh is like his father," Birla cut in contemptuously. "A bookworm with no stomach for a fight. Even if he were to reappear among the people, all he would do is try to calm the masses and then talk and talk and talk. We don't need to fear a holy war from that one."

The captain shrugged. "It need not be Sultan Singh. All it will take is one person with the strength and savvy to lead the people on his behalf and you will lose, particularly if the Sultan and his mother are still at large."

"Then find her!" Birla commanded harshly. "Find them both! I still do not understand how young Singh continues to slip through your grasp. He was traveling openly . . ."

"He was warned," the Captain interrupted. "It is the only answer. We know he arrived on a flight from New York to London with another . . . a tall, fair-haired young man about the same age . . ."

"His so-called brother," Birla said with distaste. "The Quest boy, obviously."

The man shrugged, accepting Birla's assessment. "They deplaned and all indications said they were making their way toward the gate for their connecting flight. And then . . . nothing. My men lost them in the crowds, and they never showed up for their new flight. Somewhere between, someone must have warned them of trouble."

"How?" Birla demanded harshly. "Subramanian was dead, so he could not have warned him. The boy has not attempted to call his mother since their last phone conversation almost a week ago. And I saw to it that his answering machine was filled so there was no way for anyone to leave a message."

"Yes, but you were slow to disable the answering machine." The guard captain shook his head. "Consistently, you underestimate your enemies. If you do not learn from this mistake it will be your undoing."

"You are not a prophet!" Birla snarled. "Just find the Sultan and his mother and kill them both!" Then, with a swirl of brilliantly colored robes, he turned and swept out of the room.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Vijay watched through the spy hole that overlooked Birla's personal quarters as Birla and the Captain of the Janissary Guard argued. He was flooded with relief as his greatest fear was allayed. With Hadji Singh alive there was a still a chance to stop Birla. Stepping away from his observation post, Vijay turned and moved swiftly down the dark, stuffy passageway. It was time to find the Regent and pass on what he has learned.

The two of them had been hiding in these passageways watching the activities of the Palace for five days now. Other than occasional late night forays for food and water, they had remained hidden and totally out of contact with anyone. Certain that her son was on his way to Bangalore, Neela had set herself the task of learning as much as she could so the information would be available to Hadji when he arrived. Today she had directed him to find out how the Council members were feeling about Birla's moves toward taking the throne. He had spent the majority of the morning flitting from one clandestine spot to another and he had discovered a number of interesting facts.

First, of the twelve members of the Council, three were open supporters of the Sultan and his policies. They were all younger members, mostly from middle-class families who had worked hard to get to the positions they currently held. The three had vision and understood the Sultan's goals and were devoted to them. Add himself to that count, and the Sultan had four men he could count on for support without question. Birla had four men that were equally voracious in support of him, and all of them came from the old families that held extreme wealth and power.

That left four men whose loyalties were, at best, questionable. As Hadji had begun to revise the composition of his Advisory Council, one of the things he had insisted on was that there were to be representatives from the entire spectrum of Bangalore life. So, over the strenuous objections of the older members, he had added people that traditionally were considered little more than slaves. One was a poor farmer from the northern borders of Bangalore. He was quiet and much smarter than the others gave him credit for, and Vijay had liked him immediately. The problem, as Vijay saw it, was that jurisdictionally, he and his family fell within the Rafiq family's sphere of influence, and they were firm Birla supporters. And while the man himself stayed in quarters at the Palace most of the time, his family had been forced to remain at their home in the northern provinces to continue farming. This meant that pressure could be brought to bear on him by threatening his family, and Vijay was fairly certain that this had occurred more than once already.

The second man was a middle-level manager who worked for one of Arun Birla's many shipping enterprises. Not the Sultan's original choice for the vacant seat, the man had moved into the Council as a result of the death of his brother who had been the original appointee to the position. Birla had pushed hard for the man to succeed his brother, stating that family ascendancy to Council positions was traditional, and since both men worked in the same industry, it did not disrupt the compositional balance. The problem with that solution was that while both worked in the shipping industry, Hadji's appointee had worked for a rival shipping company, where his brother worked for Birla . . . . a point that the Sultan could hardly use as a basis to disqualify the man.

The final two members were new additions and had been seated for less than a month. Both were from Bangalore City and worked as laborers in manufacturing plants . . . and both were women. Neither had been received with any cordiality when their appointments had been announced. Vijay had no sense of their loyalties at all, since they largely kept to themselves and said very little when the Council was in session.

As for loyalties outside the Council, that was also a major question. The Royal Guard were faithful to the Sultan . . . hopefully. Birla had made a mistake bringing in Janissaries again. It had caused much dissension and probably turned those guardsmen who would have followed him back toward the Sultan. But loyalties could be so changeable that it was hard to predict what would happen within the Palace walls if open conflict erupted. And today's information gathering session had provided no firm answers to that question.

Vijay's mouth set in a stubborn line. One way or the other, he had to convince the Lady Neela to leave the Palace. He had been trying desperately to get her away since he returned with the news of Rajeev's death, but she had steadfastly refused to leave. She insisted that Hadji would need every scrap of information they could gather and that as long as they stayed within the hidden passages, they were safe enough. 

But Birla was no fool. He had served Vikram while he lived and the despot's ability to appear almost magically, and to know everything that went on in the palace, indicated another way of getting around within the Palace. He suspected that these passages existed and had been searching for them ever since he moved in. Had the man concentrated on his own quarters and done an intensive search there, he might actually have found them. But he was so arrogant that for a long time he believed that no one would have the nerve to spy on him. After Rajeev's murder, he did institute a search, but by then it was too late. Knowing how much of a threat he posed, Vijay had disabled the access mechanism and barricaded the door. Slowly, Birla was once again beginning to believe that his quarters were safe. But Vijay knew that they were still living on borrowed time. He had to get the Regent away before Birla's men located the passages and she was captured.

He searched for her for some time before he finally located her in the niche that allowed visual access to the throne room. Several members of the Council were waiting impatiently and the murmur of their voices contained an undercurrent of disquiet. Vijay noted that it was the "faithful four" that waited. He grasped her arm and tugged, indicated that he wished to speak with her, but she shook her head silently and gestured at him to wait. Vijay moved up and stood beside her, watching the four men. There was little doubt that they were upset and getting more so by the minute. Finally, the door opened and Birla strode in.

"What is it that you want?" he snapped testily.

"There is trouble, Excellency . . ." one of the men replied, stepping forward hesitantly.

"What sort of trouble?"

"There are rumors of impending riots following the incident earlier this morning. The people are . . ."

"Being taken care of," Birla replied sharply, cutting the man off. "I have already sent a squad of Janissaries out into the streets to quell the growing unrest."

"But, Sire, when word of this reaches out into the countryside, it is only going to make matters worse," another of the men protested. "The rural populace is starting to band together. Troops have already been openly attacked, and . . ."

"It will be dealt with," Birla replied once more. "I have already given instructions that authorize our troops to spare no quarter when it comes to dealing with the insurgents. Making an example of a few of their leaders will take care of the problem quickly enough."

The eldest of the five men in the room replied evenly, "I would respectfully point out, Excellency, that your attempt to use Rajeev Subramanian as an example to the people is a large part of the reason we are currently in this position. Are you certain a more circumspect approach might not be in order? Surely a public statement by the Regent would do much to calm the unrest."

Birla glared at the man. "I would certainly recommend that the Lady Neela make such a statement if I thought the benefits outweighed the risks. However, it would be too dangerous for her to appear in public right now. Also, she is extremely distressed by the disappearance of her son, and I do not wish to put her under any additional strain at this time. Right now she chooses to remain in seclusion and I believe that it is for the best. We will simply have to cope as best we can until the Sultan's return."

"There is still no word on his whereabouts?" the older man asked.

"No. The last person to see him was the Indian ambassador, Mr. Tilak, last Thursday. Lady Neela talked with him later that day and that was the last anyone has heard."

"This would not be happening if he had remained here where he belongs rather than running off to America all of the time," one of them muttered angrily.

"Enough!" Birla said sharply. "It is not our place to question the Sultan's decisions. I will advise the Regent of your concerns and ask that you continue to apprise me of anything that you feel the Regent should know. Now I must go. I am late for another appointment." Turning abruptly, Birla strode from the room without another word.

"I do not like it," the first man complained. "Where is the Sultan? And why is it that the Regent is refusing to see us?"

The older man looked thoughtful, but said only, "There is little we can do other than follow Mr. Birla's suggestion. Do the best you can to calm the people that look to you and be certain to let me know what you hear. For now, we will wait for instructions from the Sultan." As the four men turned to file out of the throne room, Neela caught Vijay's arm and gestured for him to follow. Silently, the two made their way through the passages until they reached a little used area where they could talk safely. As she turned back toward him, Vijay could see fear written plainly on her face.

"Hadji has disappeared? If Mr. Birla's men have taken him . . ."

"They have not," Vijay hastened to reassure her. Quickly, he told her of the conversation he had overhead between Arun Birla and the Captain of the Janissary guard. "I can only assume that he got the message that I left for him or that Tarang Kumar finally got through and warned him of the danger." He looked thoughtful as he contemplated what he had overhead. "Did it seem to you, Excellency, that those men appeared disturbed by the manner in which Mr. Birla is handling this situation?"

"I would think that they _would_ be disturbed, Mr. Patel. Everyone should be."

But Vijay continued to stare blindly into the darkness, acting as if he hadn't heard her. Finally, he murmured softly, "Maybe his hold on them isn't as strong as he thinks it is . . ." Then he seemed to shake himself out of his reverie and looked down at Neela once more. Reaching out, he caught her hands. "Please, Excellency," he pleaded, "we must get you away from here. If Mr. Birla captures you, he will not hesitate to use you to force your son into his hands. It is a risk we cannot take. Allow me to get you away from here. I will take you to my family near Panjal province. The people in that area will ensure that Mr. Birla's soldiers do not capture you." Vijay could see Neela hesitate and he pushed his advantage. "They search for the access to these passages, Excellency. Mr. Birla suspects they are here. It is only a matter of time until he locates one and then you will not be safe. We must escape _now_ . . . before he finds his way here."

"But what if Hadji . . . "

"He did not take the flight to Bangalore," he reminded her. "It is obvious he was warned away. And as closely as the Janissary watch the entrances into the country, I do not believe he will be able to get in. We must get away from here . . . to somewhere that we can be certain the phones are safe. Then we will call his home in America. He is sure to be back there by that time and we can find out what he wishes for us to do. Please, Excellency. I really do not believe that we have much time. We must go now."

Her shoulders slumped and she sighed softly. "Very well. What do you wish to do?"

Vijay thought quickly. He had been keeping a close watch on the comings and goings at the back door and he knew that getting out of the palace was going to be extremely difficult. Birla was not stupid. He suspected that the Regent was still within these walls somewhere . . . most likely hidden in the inner passages . . . and he did not wish for her to slip away from him. Because of this, all exits to the palace were watched very closely. Vijay knew that if they were to get away safely, some way had to be found to distract the guards away from one of the doors. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish that yet, but one way or the other, he would find a way.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Jonny and Hadji stood motionless, watching the shifting crowds in the cafeteria from the safety of the back passageways. No specific conversations were audible over the general hubbub that filtered through the access slits, but the overall tone seemed shrill and brittle to Jonny. He glanced over at his brother and watched as a frown creased his brow. Whatever he saw in that room was not making him happy. Hadji looked over at Jonny and gestured silently with his head that he wanted to leave. Carefully covering the access slits with a security panel, the two moved silently away from the crowded room. A short time later, Hadji stopped in the dusty passage and turned to Jonny.

"It is imperative that I talk with someone who knows what has been going on," he said in a low voice. "I had hoped to find Vijay Patel, but he does not appear to be anywhere in the palace."

"Is there anyone else you can trust?" Jonny replied in the same low tone.

Hadji hesitated for a long time. "Perhaps . . ." he began cautiously, but Jonny cut him off sharply.

"No. If you're that hesitant about it, then we can't risk it."

"What else can we do? We dare not make any moves without knowing exactly what has transpired."

"Then we just have to wait until Patel shows up again."

"We cannot!" Hadji exclaimed, scrubbing at his face in frustration.

Jonny eyed him with serious concern in the jerky shadows cast by their flashlights. "Calm down. What's wrong with playing a little of the waiting game? No one knows we're here and we're in the perfect position to collect the information we need with the least amount of risk. Something's eating at you. What is it, Hadj?"

For a long time, Hadji was silent, staring blindly into the darkness around them. Finally, he looked back at Jonny and said softly, "Something very, very bad has happened. I can _feel_ it. I do not know what it is, but the sense of it permeates the very air. Jonny, Bangalore is on the precipice of war. I have tried my best to bring my country into the modern age, but Vikram's greed and power-hungry nature created a deep division in our people. What I offered was the chance for everyone to have a better life and the poor peasants have jumped at the opportunity. But the wealthy see my changes as a threat to their positions of power and influence . . ."

"Which they are," Jonny pointed out gently.

"Yes, they are," he acknowledged with a sigh. "But it is time that things are shaken up. I knew that there were those men who were attempting to put a stop to the changes I was making, and ever since the first of the year I have felt that I should return and try to address some of the growing issues."

"Why didn't you?"

Hadji gestured helplessly. "Many reasons. Father was so shaken after the attack by Baxter and his men that I did not feel it was prudent to leave the country. I had also committed to Mother and my Advisory Council that I would move with all possible haste to complete my education, and the opportunity to gain early admission to Columbia was a step toward fulfilling that promise. And then, Rajeev was urging me strongly not to return at that time. He kept saying that it was dangerous to upset the balance that had formed." Hadji sighed softly. "And I really did not wish to leave, so it was not hard to convince me."

Jonny shook his head ruefully. "I'll tell you, Hadj, you've just got to do something about this Sultan business. No one should have to do something they hate so much."

"It is what I was born to do," Hadji replied glumly.

"Bullshit. You don't know what you were born to do. When we first met, you were a street performer and thief in the gutters of Calcutta. If you insist on it, I could probably make a good argument that you were born to do that, too. And at least you were _happy_ doing that, which is more than you can say for being Sultan of Bangalore. Truth is, none of us are born to do _anything_. We find our way as we grow up. The fact that your dad . . . your birth father . . . was Sultan of Bangalore doesn't mean that's the best choice of occupation for you any more than my birth father being a research scientist means that's the best choice for me. If we're smart, we find what we're good at and what we enjoy doing, and that's what we make our life's work. Let's face it, that's what Dad did. You can bet that's not the life Grandmother and Grandfather Quest would have chosen for him!"

Hadji snorted softly. "If some of the stories I have heard about them are true, I believe you are correct."

"I know I am. I _remember_ them. But look, this probably isn't the time to be discussing family history. You say you want to talk to Vijay Patel. I think the thing to do is find out where he is and put the two of you in contact with each other."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"I'm gonna go ask for him."

"Jonny, we cannot do that! If Birla or one of his men should catch us . . ."

"Not us . . . me. You're gonna stay right here."

"No! It is too dangerous . . ."

"Hadji, listen to me. As I see it, we've got three choices. One, we can walk openly into the Palace, call Birla a traitor, and try to bull our way through. I figure the chances that we walk out of that one alive are next to zero. Two, we can call the information gathering foray into the Palace a partial success, cut our losses, and get out of here. That option is a whole lot safer, but may not be the best idea in the long run if our goal is to see to it that no one dies."

"No more than have already done so," Hadji replied grimly, thinking about the men at the palace gate that morning.

"The third option is to stay here a bit longer, find Vijay Patel and get some real answers. I honestly think that's our best bet, but we aren't having any luck finding him this way. So our next best choice is simply to ask." Jonny shook his head at the look on his brother's face. "No one is going to know me, Hadji. Right now, I doubt even Dad would recognize me if he met me on the street. There's no way anyone here will. And my Hindi is good enough to pass. You've seen to that. What we do is find me some clean clothes someplace, and then I'll go openly through the palace to Mr. Patel's office and ask for him. I can say I've got a message for him that has to be delivered personally. You follow my progress in the passages, and as soon as I track him down, I'll get him into a deserted room and we can slip him into the passageways where you can talk to him safely." Jonny watched as Hadji contemplated the idea with distaste. "It's the best way, Hadji. You know it is."

"It is very dangerous, Jonny."

In the dim light, Jonny grinned at his brother. "Yeah. Ain't it a rush? Come on, let's find something for me to wear."


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty-eight**

  


Paul Descarte, former counter-intelligence operative and dealer in hard-to-find merchandise - aka Jean-Paul Bussac, owner of a trendy art gallery in one of the better sections of Boston - glared fiercely at the slender redhead who stood in front of him.

"You are _not_ my father!" she spat defiantly. "What gives you the right to think you are in _any_ position to dictate to me?"

"Because you are obviously out of your mind!" he yelled back at her. "You can't do this!"

"The hell I can't! You just watch me!"

On the sidelines, Maia and Srinivasan watched the screaming pair in fascination, their heads swiveling back and forth to follow the volleys in this verbal tennis match.

Suddenly, the nearby pedestrian door of the warehouse swung open and Jade and Kefira entered.

"Children, children . . . no fighting," Jade admonished, coming up to the two combatants with a grin.

"Where have you been?" Jessie snarled, directing her bad temper at the new arrival. "I said nightfall. It's damned near 9:00!"

"Now, now . . . don't get testy. Finding a plane capable of going over the mountains on short notice took some doing. But it's being fueled right now and should be ready to go within half an hour. Now, would you _please_ tell me what the hell you've got in mind?"

"Besides suicide, that is!" Paul added sourly.

"That's enough, Paul!" Jade snapped, glaring at him. "You've made your opinion clear enough, and Jessie's made it equally clear that turning tail is not going happen. So until you have something useful to say, just shut up!"

"Her father will kill me . . ."

"My _father_ knows me a hell of a lot better than you _**ever**_ will," Jessie assured him scathingly. "_**HE**_ can't stop me from doing anything I set my mind to, so do you honestly believe he would expect _you_ to be able to manage it?" Jessie turned away and faced Kefira. "All right. Now you need to answer a question for me. Just how far are you prepared to go . . . how many risks are you prepared to take . . . to get into the country and do what needs to be done?"

Kefira was silent, staring hard at the other girl. Standing to one side, Paul and Jade were struck by the unconscious tableau before them. Face to face, standing about three feet apart, the two young women might almost have been gazing into a mirror at their own reflections. Both were still dressed in black and both wore identical expressions of grim determination.

"You know what I am prepared to do to get him back," Kefira replied, her voice vibrating slightly with intensity. "It is no less than you are prepared to do. We are wasting time. Whatever you have planned, let us get on with it."

A little smile touched the corner of Jessie's lips and she held out her right hand. The sharp sound of their palms smacking together as Kefira grabbed it tightly was loud in the echoing silence of the warehouse. "Sisters," Jessie said with conviction.

"Now and for all the days to come," Kefira agreed.

"Then let's do this." Turning, she faced Jade and Paul again. "Jade, you're gonna be the pilot. You can handle the plane you found?"

"I can handle it," she agreed.

"Good." She glanced at Kefira. "We need to decide where we're going to make our entrance. And because of the weapons, it has to be somewhere we can hide them safely until we have to use them. It also needs to be near a place where we can obtain transportation relatively quickly. Time is our enemy now." 

Kefira eyes blazed suddenly. "I believe I know where we can do that. Are you still planning to air-drop the weapons?"

"Yes. We'll drop them at the same time we make the jump."

Kefira spun and crossed to the laptop that was set up on a nearby table. Activating the satellite uplink, she demanded, "Can you get us a Landsat image of Bangalore?"

"Yes," Jessie said, sitting down quickly. She worked at the keyboard for a moment and suddenly an image appeared. Isolated pin-pricks of light showed against the night-shrouded terrain.

"Hey, that's a live image," Paul exclaimed. "Live-action access to Landsat satellites is restricted!"

Jessie just ignored him. "This what you're looking for?" she asked Kefira.

"Yes. Now give me a daylight shot of the same area." A few quick keystrokes brought up a new image. This one caused Kefira to nod sharply. "Now, zoom in a little bit at a time. I will need to orient myself based on landmarks." Jessie did as she asked, getting closer and more detailed shots each time. After the third adjustment, Kefira made a soft sound of satisfaction and tapped the screen in the upper left corner. "There. Center and zoom in here." Jessie quickly centered the indicated region on the screen and increased the magnification once more. As the image cleared, they all saw what looked to be an overhead image of a deep pit. Its edges appeared neatly stair-stepped, and on one side a steep road curved from the bottom of the pit to the top, and then crossed about a kilometer of flat, open ground before it began to wind its way into the surrounding hills. Clearly visible in the image were a number of buildings that sat near the edge of the pit and a host of large trucks and machines. A sturdy chain link fence surrounded the site.

"That is Sankar Mine," Srinivasan said excitedly, worming his way between the adults to stare at the computer screen in fascination.

Kefira smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. "Very good, Vassey." She glanced up at Jessie. "One of my family's mines. It is in a relatively remote location, but is still in the heart of Panjal Province where my father had influence. This is the only one of our mines that has tunnels as well regular open-pit mining. We can hide the weapons in one of the deep passages and they will be safe. If I tell the workmen that they are not to allow anyone into the mine without my permission, they will see to it that no one gets in."

Jessie contemplated the area carefully and then nodded. "This will work. How far is it from this mine to your family's home?"

"Approximately 70 kilometers. But we should be able to obtain a vehicle there as well. We keep company trucks as well as mining vehicles at the site."

"What about from the border?"

Reaching past Jessie, Kefira hit two keys and the image backed out a bit. "Here is the mine," she said, pointing to the still-recognizable site of excavation. Then she drew her finger northward. "There is a pass here that leads into the high Himalayas. The pass itself is in Bangalore, but the border is less than two kilometers from it." She tapped the screen a bit further to the right at the top edge. "Mt. Everest is here." Then she drew her finger further to the right and a bit lower down. "This would be the pass that Maia and Srinivasan took. It is not a true road . . . rather, it was designed for foot and animal traffic. The trail tops the pass and then descends fairly quickly in a series of switchbacks to the east toward Delhi. The border here is right at the pass." She gave Jessie a significant look. "I have no doubt that by this time, the pass will be guarded."

Jessie nodded. "That's okay. Let them guard it. It will keep them busy." Working quickly, Jessie brought the close-up view of the mine back on the screen again, then opened a pop up box and sent a request to the Landsat satellite. A moment later, the system beeped and a set of coordinates appeared on the screen. Copying them onto a piece of paper quickly, she handed the paper to Jade. "How good are you at dropping something on the mark?"

Jade grinned at her. "If I can't drop them within three meters of this location, I won't charge you for the flight."

"You better think about that offer, because I'm going to ask you to drop them from a relatively high altitude . . . at least 5,000 feet above ground level. We don't want you coming in low and letting everyone in the area know you're there."

Jade nodded. "That's okay. I can handle it. What about you? How are you planning to get there?"

Jessie stood up and grinned at Kefira. "We'll jump at the same time you drop the weapons. You should have plenty of time to get clear before anyone realizes you're there . . . if they realize it at all. Between the altitude and the dark, you should be able to get away safely." Pushing past them, she strode over to the Quest jet and climbed aboard quickly, leaving Jade and Paul staring after her speechlessly. A few seconds later she reappeared with two parachutes. Kefira caught the parachute that Jessie tossed to her, immediately shrugged into it, and began adjusting the straps.

"You do realize that jumping from 5,000 feet above ground at that location puts you at a jump altitude of damned close to 15,000 feet, right?" Paul asked carefully. "That might just as well be a halo jump. We're gonna need breathing apparatus and insulated jump suits to make that . . . particularly at this time of year."

Jessie shrugged. "We don't have either, so we'll do without them. We've got cold weather gear on the jet that we can use to layer with. That will help. We'll time the jump for distance and freefall a good portion of it. That will get us to lower altitudes quickly enough. I've done a lot of work with Dr. Quest at high altitudes so I know that I won't have a problem. And Kefira was born in these mountains and is accustomed to them."

"Jess, you know I've supported you in all of this," Jade said quietly. "But this is crazy. Parachuting in is one thing, but doing it from that altitude . . . and at night? You'll do Jonny and Hadji absolutely no good at all if you kill yourselves getting in."

Jessie looked at the older woman steadily. "If you have a better suggestion, I'm willing to listen, but you better make it quick. We're out of time."

Jade thought frantically. Race might not kill Paul if something happened to his little girl, but he just might kill her if he found out she had a hand in it. "All right, if time is essential, then I think flying in is the only choice. But Paul's right. It's suicide to try a jump like that. Kefira, is there a place I can set the plane down?"

Kefira shook her head. "No. What little flat ground there is has too many low shrubs and loose boulders. You would destroy the plane attempting it."

"What about the closest airfield?"

"Also not an option. The nearest airfield is close to my family's home and is in the heart of the area that has been involved in physical conflict. It is a certainty that Mr. Birla's troops will be there. And if they do not shoot us, my father's men are likely to before I can get close enough to identify myself. Landing the plane is simply not an option."

Jade sighed in frustration. "All right. Then we go with the parachute jump, but we do it from a much lower altitude . . . say 500 to 750 feet."

"No," Jessie said flatly. "That puts you at too great a risk."

"You let me worry about the risk."

"No, we'll do it . . ."

". . . my way," Jade said in the same flat tone, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Or we won't do it at all. You need a pilot for this little jaunt. Paulie won't take you in, I promise you. And you can't take yourself in without losing the plane. So we do it my way. Got it?"

It was a war of wills . . . and one that Jessie knew she couldn't win. Finally, she gave in. "All right. I don't like it, but you aren't giving me much choice."

"I've survived for a long time, Jess. I know how to get out of a tight spot. Don't worry. This won't be the one to end me."

"So where's my parachute?" Paul demanded.

"You aren't going," Jessie replied, setting the parachute down beside the table and beginning to pack up the laptop. "I've . . ."

"No!" he said flatly. "You aren't going in there without me. You need someone who's been through this sort of thing before and I'm all you've got."

Jessie straightened and turned to face him. "You're right," she said quietly, "you are all I've got. You're the only person I can trust to see that Maia and Srinivasan get safely to my father in Maine." When he would have protested, Jessie shook her head. Placing a hand on his arm, she looked at him with a pleading expression. "You know what we're facing. There is no way we can take them with us, and they'll never be safe here. And I don't dare turn to Admiral Bennett or I-1. So far, no one other than Mr. Lakshmanan has seen you, and I think we can trust him to keep silent about your presence. If this all blows up, the U.S. government has total deniability. It was an action taken entirely by private citizens on behalf of a family member. If I get agency people involved and things go wrong, it could erupt into an international incident that could trigger a multi-country war in this area. We're going to unload the weapons and put them into the cargo plane, and then you're going to take the jet and the three of you are going to head straight for the Quest Compound in Maine. Compound security will recognize the plane and I'll program the flight computer to provide the proper responses so you can land. The airstrip there is designed specifically for this plane so if you're even a halfway decent pilot, you won't have a problem." Her grip tightened on his arm. "I don't know what debt you owed to my father, but whatever it was, if you can get Maia and Srinivasan safely back to Maine, I think you've more than paid it. Please . . . take the children and go, so that Kefira and I can concentrate on what we have to do."

Paul looked at her for a moment longer and then sighed, his shoulders drooping in defeat. "All right," he said heavily, "I'll do what you ask. But for the record, I think it's a mistake."

The smile she gave him was almost friendly. "Noted." She squeezed his arm one more time before she let it go. "Thank you, Paul. My father and Jade were right. I'm glad you came with us." Then her manner turned business-like once more. "Jade, can you go see what's taking that cargo plane so long? Paul and I will start unloading the weapons from the jet."

Over the next hour, all of them worked to get things ready. Cargo chutes were rigged on the three crates of weapons and two of explosives, and all of them were carefully stowed in the twin engine cargo plane that Jade had managed to locate. At one point, Jessie drew the other woman aside and questioned softly, "You sure about this, Jade? This is an awfully small plane for what we're talking about doing."

That lazy, slightly mocking smile lit up the woman's face. "Don't worry, honey. It'll make your mountain crossing. We may get a bit on the chilly side, but it's got the horses to handle it."

Jessie shook her head. "I'm less worried about the crossing than I am about you making it back here in one piece. This trip's gonna push that plane's distance capacity, and it's not like you can find an airport to land it at to refuel. My Dad will never let me hear the end of it if I get you killed."

Jade chuckled softly. "Yes, but your mother will probably be eternally grateful." Jade laughed again and patted Jessie's shoulder in response to her outraged expression. "Don't sweat it, kid. You know me. I don't value anything more highly than my own skin. If I didn't think I could make this trip, I wouldn't be doing it. Paulie over there may have an unpayable debt to your old man, but I don't. I'm in this for the money."

Jessie snorted and shook her head. "Same old Jade. Well, you don't have to worry about the money. I made the fund transfer before we left Mumbai . . . $100,000 . . . just like we agreed . . . wired to your personal Swiss bank account. It'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Something stirred in the depths of Jade's dark eyes at that comment, but Jessie didn't see it. She had already turned away.

On the other side of the hanger, Kefira was sitting on a packing crate with her brother and sister and had an arm around each of them.

"But I want to go with you," Maia complained insistently. "I want to help you find the man who burned our house down and hurt all of our friends." Kefira noticed that she was getting more and more reluctant to refer to the death of their parents.

"I know that you do, sister. But it is too dangerous. I _must_ go. It is my responsibility now. But I cannot put you in the same jeopardy."

"I do not care. It is my choice, and I want to go with you!"

"I do, too!" Srinivasan added vehemently.

Kefira sighed softly. "But Father specifically wanted you to go to Dr. Quest's home in Maine. You, yourself, carried that message, Maia. Would you have me go against Father's orders?"

"Father did not know what was going to happen when he told Mother that," she replied stubbornly. "He would not want us separated now."

"I know that he would not," Kefira said sadly, hugging her sister to her for a moment. "But he would understand the necessity of it. He loved all of us very much, and he would not wish for any of us to be in danger. But most of all, if one of us had to be at risk, he would want the rest of us to be safe. That is the way it must be. Please do not make me order you to go."

The two children sat with their heads bowed, finally out of arguments. Eventually, Maia looked up at her older sister again. "Is it true, Kefa? Did you really marry the Sultan?"

It had been years since Maia had used the pet name that Sumant had given Kefira so long ago. "Yes, it is true. He is my husband now. Do you want to see? Look . . ." Reaching inside the neck of her jacket, Kefira caught the chain that hung around her neck and pulled the ruby pendant out where they could see it. "He gave this to me when we exchanged _vannishchaya_."

Srinivasan reached out for it in fascination, but Maia gasped and slapped his hand away. "It - it is the royal jewel of Bangalore," she said in an awed whisper.

Kefira nodded at her. "Yes, part of it." She could see the confusion in her sister's eyes and she smiled. "My husband, the Sultan, wears the other half. Two halves that join to make a single whole. You understand this, Maia. You have studied the Hindu way for many years."

"Yes," she whispered, staring at the pendant. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears that spilled over and ran down her cheeks. "And now you are sundered from us. You belong to the Sultan and his family . . . not to us any more."

"No, Maia!" Kefira exclaimed, pulling her little sister close and holding her tightly. "No." Setting Maia back on her feet, Kefira wiped the girl's face with one hand and said to her, "I 'belong' to no one but myself. This is a lesson Hadji has taught me. He has never demanded anything of me other than what I would freely give, and he would never have me deny my brothers and sisters simply because I am his wife." She gestured toward Jessie on the other side of the warehouse. "I called her 'sister', and it is true. She will one day be the wife of the man that Hadji names as his blood brother . . . the son of the man who took Hadji in and made him his son after his birth father, the Sultan, was murdered. But that does not mean that you are not my sister as well. This is why you must go with that man. I would send you to my new family . . . my husband's family . . . who will care for both of you and make certain that you are safe. And when Hadji and I return from Bangalore, it will be to come and get both of you. You will always have a home, Maia. I swear that to you." The girl shoved herself back into Kefira's arms and clung to her fiercely, as Srinivasan nestled against her side, whimpering softly.

A few moments later, a soft voice interrupted them. "It's almost time to go." Kefira looked up and found Jessie standing in front of her. Pushing the two youngsters away from her gently, she wiped their faces and smiled. "It will be all right. You will see. But now we have to go."

With a loud sniff, Maia turned and looked up at Jessie. "Kefa says that you are her new sister."

Jessie knelt down in front of the girl so that they were on the same level, as Jade and Paul drifted up from behind. "Yes."

"What is your name?"

"Jessica Bannon . . . but my family calls me Jessie."

"Can - can I call you Jessie?"

The young woman smiled. "Of course. You are my little sister."

"Are you gonna take care of Kefa, Jessie?"

"Absolutely. That's what I'm here for."

"They are very bad men . . . the - the people who did these things. They hurt many people."

"I know. That's why they have to be stopped."

Maia looked over her shoulder at her sister and then back at Jessie. "And you and Kefa can do this thing?"

"Yes. With Hadji and Jon's help."

"Who is Jon?"

"Jon is Hadji's brother," Kefira answered softly.

"The Sultan's brother, and the one you will marry one day," the child said to Jessie.

"Yes."

Maia thought about that for a moment and then looked past her to where Jade and Paul stood, watching the four of them. "And you want me to go with that man, too?"

"Yes," Jessie agreed. "He will take you to our home in America where you will be safe."

"Will we have to stay with him until Kefa comes back?" And then with a childlike simplicity, she added. "I don't like him. He is mean and yells all of the time."

Kefira hid her face in one hand as Jade laughed low in her throat. "Boy, does she have your number, Paulie," she chortled to him.

"No, Maia," Jessie replied, struggling to hide her grin. "Mr. Descarte is only to take you to our home in Maine. There, you will stay with my father and mother. My father is a very tall man with white hair and blue eyes, and my mother looks almost exactly like me. They both liked your father very much and will be glad to have you there." Then her smile dimmed slightly. "And Hadji's father is there, too. But he has been very sick, and I am told that my mother has not been well, either. I would be very grateful if you and Srinivasan could help my father take care of both of them until we can come back."

In that instant, they all saw Maia straighten. Her head came up proudly and she reached out and drew her little brother to her firmly. "Our mother taught all of us how to help in the house, and I am very good at it. We will both work very hard to help our new family."

Jessie smiled at the two of them and then rose effortlessly. "I am sure you will. So let's get started."

As everyone turned toward the plane, Maia stopped one last time. "Wait . . ." she said and pushed Kefira back down on the crate they had been using as a chair. Then she turned and began routing through the sack she had been carrying with her since she left her family's home a week before. After a moment, she straightened and returned to her sister carrying a small box. Standing before Kefira, Maia opened the box and removed something, which she pressed firmly against her sister's forehead, between her eyes. When she was done, she stepped back and closed the small box, offering it to her sister. "They belonged to Mother," she said quietly, "but I do not believe that she would mind if you took them. And you should be wearing a bindi now that you are married." Then, grabbing up the sack and her brother's hand, she led Srinivasan away toward the Quest jet. Kefira reached up and touched the blood-red mark of the third eye on her forehead hesitantly and then glanced over at her companion.

"I said she was just like you," Jessie said with a grin. "Give her a purpose and nothing will get in her way. Are you ready to go?" Kefira nodded. "Then let's roll."


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty-nine**

  


Stan Knight stuck his head in the study door. "Chopper's coming back, Garrett."

Garrett Blackman looked up from his laptop and nodded. "I'll be there in a minute."

"What are you doing?"

"Just taking care of some business." He snapped the lid of the laptop closed and rose. "Come on. Let's find out how Mrs. Bannon is."

The two men were waiting in the entryway when the door opened and Race and Barbara came inside. Both of them looked utterly exhausted, but Barbara was the first to speak.

"How is he?" she asked, glancing up the main staircase.

"Dr. Quest is fine," Garrett assured her. "He hasn't stirred. We checked on him twice and both times he appeared to be sleeping peacefully."

Barbara rubbed her eyes wearily. "Let's hope sleep is all it is."

"I know you're both about done in," Garrett said quietly, "but we've got some news that you're going to want to hear. I'll apologize in advance, but we went routing through the kitchen. There's fresh coffee on, and sandwiches if you want something."

Race nodded. "We can talk in the kitchen without worrying too much about disturbing Benton. And I could use some of that coffee."

The four moved into the kitchen and Race, Barbara, and Stan sat down while Garrett poured coffee. Setting a tray of sandwiches in the middle of the counter, Garrett poured himself a cup and joined them.

There was a brief silence and then Stan asked, "How is your wife, Mr. Bannon?"

"Resting," he replied after a moment. "She regained consciousness in the chopper and was able to talk with the doctor when we got there. But they aren't going to let her come home."

"They'll play it day-to-day," Barbara added, "but it's just a matter of time now before they will have to take the baby. The stress was finally just more than her system could stand. Her blood pressure has spiked and her protein count has risen to dangerous levels. They'll try to bring it down, but . . ." She trailed off and shook her head, while Race scrubbed at his face with his hand and then ran it through his hair distractedly.

"How far along is she?" Stan asked quietly.

"Six and a half months," Race replied heavily. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the bar and then rested his head in his hands. None of them could be certain, but they thought he added, "Too early."

Barbara rested a consoling hand on his shoulder and after a moment, Garrett cleared his throat and said, "Well, I have some news. I'm not certain if it's good or bad, but it's something, at least. Jessica called."

Race's head snapped up sharply. "What?! What did she say?"

"Where are they?" Barbara demanded. "Did you tell them that we need them back here **_now_**?

Garrett held up a placating hand. "Yes, I told her. I explained the entire situation . . . including the fact that Mrs. Bannon is having problems."

"Where was she?" Race demanded again.

"She didn't say, but I was able to back-trace the call to a private residence in Mumbai. I doubt she is there now, however. She and Kefira were there together, with at least two other people . . ." He shook his head at their look. "No, not Jon and Hadji. Both of them are in Bangalore. Jessica says she is fairly certain both are still alive and I got the impression that she had an idea of where to find them. When she called, they were getting ready to go in after them. I made certain she knew that it was vital that Jon and his brother return here as swiftly as possible . . . that Dr. Quest's life depends on it. She understood the urgency."

"You said she was there with two others," Race said. "Did she say who they were?"

"There may actually have been more than two, but one was a woman she called 'Jade'."

Race inhaled sharply and sat back in his chair. "Jade," he repeated softly, his eyes slightly glazed as he stared vacantly over their heads. After a moment, he breathed softly, "Good Lord, Ponchita, I hope you know what you're doing. To trust Jade . . ." Then his gaze sharpened. "IRIS, access bank records. Has there been any activity in any of the reserve bank funds in the last two weeks?"

"AFFIRMATIVE," IRIS replied after a moment. "THERE HAVE BEEN A NUMBER OF LARGE CASH AND ELECTRONIC WITHDRAWALS FROM FUND 2314 OVER THE LAST WEEK."

"Fund 2314. So you're paying her," Race commented in the same soft tone, obviously thinking out loud. He nodded to himself. "That's right, Ponchita. You can buy her loyalty. Just don't rely on her too far."

"Race?" Barbara questioned, laying a hand on his arm. His gaze focused on his surroundings again and he turned back to Garrett.

"Who was the other one?"

Garrett shook his head regretfully. "I don't know. She didn't name the person. She simply said she was sending them to you with someone you trusted."

"Sending me _'them'_? What do you mean?"

Garrett looked at Race levelly. "Kefira's younger brother and sister . . . all that is left of her family."

It took a moment for that to register, but when it did, Barbara's face went white and Race's hands doubled over into fists. "Rajeev . . . and Anila?" Race questioned hoarsely.

"Jessica offered no details," Garrett replied and quickly summarized what Jessie had told him of Anila and Rajeev's death. "She didn't name the man accompanying the children . . . I assume because you will know him on sight."

"Do you have any idea who it might be, Race?" Barbara asked him.

Race waved vaguely in frustration. "God only knows. I've made it a point to keep all of the kids well away from the agency, so it's unlikely Jess would have known how to plug into the net from Mumbai. She does have a few contacts here in the States that she could turn to in an emergency, but I can't imagine she would have called one of them and then trusted a stranger . . . even if one of them sent someone to her . . . with the lives of Kefira's brother and sister. The same goes for all of the people we know throughout the globe. Unless she called Admiral Bennett . . . "

"I don't think it would be him," Garrett replied. "She mentioned someone named Bennett to me and the way she said it made it sound like she hadn't talked with him."

"Tell me everything she said," Race commanded. Quickly, Garrett began outlining their conversation. When he told them what Jessie had said about Hadji and Kefira's marriage, Race exclaimed sharply, "They're **_WHAT_**?" With an incoherent sound of distress, he shoved himself away from the bar and stumbled across the room to stand at the sink, staring out the window blindly. Garrett and Stan exchanged concerned looks as Barbara rose and went over to him.

"Race?" she questioned softly, laying a hand on his arm.

"Why, Barbara?' he asked raggedly. "Jonny and Jessie . . . I - I can understand why they've shut us out. Benton's actions . . . and my apparent support of them . . . I guess we deserve . . . But _Hadji_. Why has _he_ shut us out?" He turned to her suddenly and his expression was distraught. "Those boys are like my own, Barbara. I _raised_ them . . . more than I did my own daughter in a lot of ways . . . and then suddenly not to be able to share the most important events in their lives . . And not even to know **_why_** . . ."

"You listen to me, Race Bannon," Barbara replied sharply. "There is no way Hadji would willingly exclude you from something so important to him. Something happened . . . something that made him feel he couldn't wait . . . for anything."

"I believe she's right, Mr. Bannon," Garrett added. "From the times and dates that Kefira provided, they were married _after_ they were attacked on the street in New York. Immediately after . . . as in the same night."

"You _know_ they wouldn't have excluded you without good reason," Barbara insisted.

"I don't know anything anymore," he replied in a choked voice, starting to turn away once more.

"Don't _do_ that," she said sharply and swung him around to face her again. "I know you're tired and worried sick. You've been spread way too thin. But that is no excuse to start second-guessing yourself . . . or them. You taught them to go with their instincts and to do what needs to be done, and it's served them well so far. You have to trust that they're still doing that, and give them the benefit of the doubt until you can talk with them yourself and find out what's going on." Grabbing his arm firmly, she drew him back to toward the others again. "Now come here and sit down. We need to hear the rest of what Mr. Blackman has to say, and then you need to get some sleep."

Race allowed her to draw him back to his chair once more, but he shook his head at her comment about bed. "No, I have to go back to Portland. Estella . . ."

"Estella is fine for now. She made me promise to see that you got some rest before you returned and that's just what you're going to do. I don't want to hear any arguments. Now, Mr. Blackman, finish what you were saying."

Swiftly, Garrett finished describing his conversation with Jessica, finishing with, "She said to tell you that she is very sorry for everything that's happened recently and that she would do her best to make you proud of her."

After he finished, Race was silent for a long moment. When he finally looked up, Barbara thought she had never seen him look so helpless.

"What do I do, Barbara? Where do my loyalties lie? With Benton . . . the man I committed myself to protect over ten years ago? To my wife? I failed her once before when times got bad, and I lost her. Do I turn my back on her and run the risk of that happening again? And what about my daughter? Or Jonny and Hadji? I - I don't know what to do any more." He finally turned and laid his head down on the bar in exhaustion.

The three others allowed him a moment in silent sympathy. Finally, Barbara rested her hand on his back and said gently, "There's no choice to make . . . no question of divided loyalties, Race, because you aren't alone. When you need to be with Estella, I'll be here to care for Benton and vice versa. As for Jessie and the others, they aren't kids anymore . . . they're adults. And they aren't alone . . . they have each other. There is no stronger bond in the whole world than the love and loyalty those four share. It will get them through. You asked earlier why they didn't tell you what was going on. **_This_** is why. They knew the way you'd feel and they didn't want to subject you to it."

"And I understand that we're strangers to you, Mr. Bannon," Garrett added. "But I can't emphasize strongly enough how much Jon and Jessica have come to mean to us. They **_matter_** to a great many people in Boston . . . from their 76-year-old landlady, Mrs. Taylor, and the rest of the tenants in their building to Jessica's advisor, Benjamin Sikes, to the kids they have befriended as part of the company's Children's Outreach Program to Jon's friends and co-workers. I have a responsibility to those people to see that Jon and Jessica . . . and Hadji and Kefira . . . return safely. I have resources, too, and I've already begun taking steps designed to do exactly what Jessica asked . . . to apply pressure to Bangalore that will keep Mr. Birla distracted."

Race raised his head and looked at the other man.

"What kind of pressure?" he demanded.

Garrett smiled. "The kind that even Benton Quest can't exert the way I can."

"I don't . . ."

"THERE IS AN INCOMING CALL FOR GARRETT BLACKMAN FROM AN AMBASSADOR TILAK IN NEW YORK. DO YOU WISH TO TAKE THIS CALL?"

"Yes, IRIS, by all means. I've been waiting for it," Garrett said. "Put it on speaker, please."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. AMBASSADOR TILAK, I HAVE MR. BLACKMAN FOR YOU."

"Mr. Blackman? I am told by my staff that you are trying to contact me." The unfamiliar voice was not particularly cordial. "Surely this could have waited until a more seemly hour."

"No, Ambassador, it could not," Garrett replied flatly. "I have attempted to talk with both your Prime Minister and his assistant concerning this matter, and neither of them are prepared to listen, even though for them the hour is perfectly seemly. They tell me that if I wish to discuss matters of foreign policy, then I must go through official channels. I believe they hope that by the time regular working hours commence here and I am able to get through 'regular channels' at the embassy, they can make themselves unavailable and the matter can be delayed further. That is unacceptable to me. Hence, you are dragged out of bed at 3:00 a.m."

"Well, since I am up, you can tell me what you wish, but I certainly will not promise any sort of action before I get into the office. And I am booked solid with meetings until well after lunch, so I doubt I will be able to do much for you before then."

"I see." Garrett's tone had turned glacial. "If that's the case, then our business is very simple. Blackman Telecommunications is currently preparing to ship approximately $4.3 million dollars worth of equipment to the Indian government. As I understand it, this equipment is earmarked to upgrade all governmental telecommunications and computer systems countrywide, all the way down to the district level. The shipment is the first of three scheduled this year as part of an overall agreement that includes the replacement of both hardware and software. Are you familiar with this arrangement?"

"Certainly. I was part of the Indian negotiating team that worked out the agreement."

"And do you recall that part of the agreement was that your country's total payment of $13 million is only 25% of the entire cost, the balance being subsidized by the Blackman Foundation?"

"Yes, I do," Tilak replied, sounding wide awake and very wary now. "We were extremely grateful for your generosity. Your Foundation's strong commitment to support third world nations is greatly appreciated."

"Not appreciated enough, evidently," Garrett replied coldly. "I said you have made our business simple, Ambassador, and you have. I am officially notifying you that funding support for this project through the Foundation has been rescinded. I have also contacted the shipping department at Blackman Telecommunications and notified them that an issue has arisen concerning funding and advised them not to ship anything until a loan for the full amount of the project, underwritten by a reputable international bank, has been received."

"But . . . but you cannot do that!" Tilak sputtered.

"Oh, but I can, Ambassador. I'm sure that you're aware that the only reason you received the funding support in the first place was that India qualified under the third world country clause of the Foundation guidelines. And I can assure you that it was an extreme stretch to justify your country's inclusion in this category. I am certainly within my rights to have this re-evaluated before the equipment begins to ship."

"But _why_?" Tilak said desperately, while Race and Barbara stared at Garrett in astonishment. "Why would you pull our funding support? You know how desperately we need that equipment! And you are losing your own company a fortune."

"My company can withstand the financial loss, I assure you. And I did not say that Blackman Telecommunications will not sell you the equipment . . . only that my charitable foundation will not bend its rules and provide funding to a country that seeks advantage under the country-in-crisis clause and yet turns its back on one of its neighbors, who is _truly_ in crisis."

"What is it that you want?" All of them could hear the strain in the man's voice now.

"I want your country to take a strong public stand against the group that is presently attempting a military coup in Bangalore. I want you to put pressure on the head of this coup, a man by the name of Arun Birla, to disband his troops of Janissaries . . . a group of mercenary soldiers that I would point out to you has already been outlawed in both Bangalore and your own country . . . and for Birla to submit himself to the Sultan for trial."

"But if what you say is true, Mr. Blackman, that is a civil war. We are not in a position to become involved in their disputes!"

"Oh, but you are, Mister Ambassador. And if you want that funding, you are obligated to do so. If you will recall, part of the qualification criteria is a clause that requires that the nation receiving the funding can document their humanitarian stand on human rights issues, particularly with their neighbors. This clause is specifically designed to ensure that countries with terrorist agendas or that have military takeover plans do not take advantage of the granting capabilities to further their own goals. Refugees are already pouring over your borders with stories of the atrocities being committed there. And what's more, prominent citizens of Bangalore . . . trading partners of significance to your country . . . are being _murdered_ by Janissary troops. Surely you're not going to tell me that your government knows nothing of this? **_I_** know of it and I'm on the other side of the globe. You can hardly ignore it, particularly in light of the volatile nature of your entire northern border."

"I do not even know if what you are saying is true," Tilak argued. "Mr. Birla is a highly regarded citizen of Bangalore from a very old and respected family, and was a Bangalorian ambassador to our own government for years. He is also the chairman of Sultan Singh's advisory council. To accuse him of attempting a coup is a very serious charge. Perhaps he is only trying to keep order in the country while the Sultan is away."

"'Keep order'? You call wholesale slaughter of the rural populace, 'keeping order'? And why slaughter leading citizens? I do not call this keeping order, Mr. Ambassador!"

"How can you be so certain . . ."

**_"BECAUSE HE ORDERED THE MURDER OF THE SULTAN'S WIFE'S FAMILY!"_** Garrett snarled, his hold on his temper slipping. The resulting silence was pregnant.

"Murder? The Sultan's **_wife's_** family?" Tilak said hesitantly. "That cannot be. He is not married. In fact, I was asked by the Regent herself to escort Ms. Subramanian back to Bangalore. There must be some mistake . . ."

"I assure you, Ambassador Tilak, there is _no_ mistake." Garrett's voice was like a lash, fueled by his obvious anger. "They were married the same day you came and attempted to take her away." The sarcasm was clear as he added, "Do you honestly believe that Sultan Singh would have allowed you to make his future wife into the political pawn that Mr. Birla wished her to be? Perhaps you are not that politically savvy, but Sultan Singh certainly is. Unfortunately, Mr. Birla chose to exact a very high price from the Sultan and his new wife for that decision, and now Rajeev Subramanian and his family are dead because of it."

"You are certain of this?" Tilak demanded.

"Yes. Within the last two hours, I have spoken to Sultana Singh and have this word from her personally. So do not expect me to have much understanding for a country that is prepared to turn a blind eye to this situation." Blackman took a deep breath, struggling to rein in his temper. After a moment, he continued in a quieter voice, "Therefore, Ambassador Tilak, I wish for you to communicate this to your Prime Minister . . . through the proper channels, of course . . . BTI Foundation will not stretch its rules for a country that will not speak out against such atrocities. If your country can come up with the money for the full $52 million to fund the project, Blackman Telecommunications will sell you the equipment. But I have one final word of warning. The personnel cost to support this project was in addition to the equipment cost and that was being donated by Blackman Telecommunications. However, under these circumstances, I will not put my people at risk. If you do choose to continue with the project, you will have to find someone else with the expertise to install the equipment and to do your training. Have I made myself clear, Mr. Ambassador?"

"Yes," the Indian ambassador replied, sounding seriously shaken.

"Excellent. Then I wish you a pleasant good morning, Ambassador. IRIS, if you would, please?"

"THE CALL HAS BEEN TERMINATED."

"Thank you."

The silence in the kitchen stretched on for a long moment. Finally, Stan said, "You better notify shipping."

"Already done. I've put everything on hold. I also notified Karen at the Foundation to pull the granting contracts." Garrett looked over at his friend and co-worker and smiled slightly. "It wasn't an idle threat, you know. I'll pull the entire project."

"Fifty-two million is a lot of money, Garrett. That was a significant contract."

Garrett shrugged. "Yes, it was. But money has never been the bottom line with me, Stan. You know that. That region of the world _needs_ stability. Since I became aware that Jon's brother was the Sultan of Bangalore, I've gone back and looked at that country and it's interactions with its neighbors. Do you have any idea how much the level of hostility throughout the entire region has dropped since Vikram Singh was overthrown and Hadji became Sultan? Yes, India is the predominant influence in the region, but they have consistently either taken a hands-off approach to diplomatic relations with their neighbors or they've fought with them, primarily over religious or territorial issues. On the other hand, Hadji's social and economic reforms have led a quiet revolution. He's taken a proactive stance to the needs of both his people and his neighbors that have brought about stability and an easing of tensions. That area can't afford to have the return of a Vikram-type rule. The entire northern border will explode, exactly the way Bangalore has. And if I can bring a little pressure to bear on the Indian Prime Minister and Parliament to see that they realize the importance of the current Bangalorian government to their own interests, then I'm not going to hesitate to do so."

"All because Jonny went to work for you last May," Race said softly.

Garrett shook his head. "No. I won't lie and say it wasn't a factor, but it's not in the way that you think. I would have paid attention anyway. I always do when either my company or my foundation is in the midst of a transaction with a foreign government . . . particularly one of this magnitude. Having worked with Dr. Quest for so many years, you should understand how easily modern technology can be turned to destructive uses, and I always try to do everything in my power to ensure that doesn't occur. But the fact that Jon was working for me provided me with the rare opportunity to evaluate the moral fiber of the man who is ruling Bangalore in a way that is seldom possible. I may have only met Hadji Singh twice, but I have come to know Jon extremely well, and those two young men are cut from the same cloth. I will support Hadji's rule wholeheartedly. I wish we could have more men like him in positions of power in this world."

After a moment, Race nodded. "So do I," he agreed. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "God, I feel like the mud at the bottom of a catfish pond. I can't even seem to think any more. I should call Bennett . . . see what he can do . . ."

"It's 3:30 in the morning," Barbara said. "Admiral Bennett will be at home in bed, which is exactly where you should be. Calling him will wait for a more reasonable hour and in the meantime you can get some sleep."

Race grinned half-heartedly. "Seems that's about all you've been saying to us recently."

"Well, I wouldn't have to say it if you'd all be more sensible!" Barbara retorted, rising from her chair. "Now, come on. I want you to get some rest. I'm going up to check on Benton and when I'm done, I expect to find you asleep."

Race rose with an effort. "Yes, mother," he replied meekly. Turning to the two other men, he said, "I'm afraid I've been a poor host tonight . . ."

"You have the right," Stan said, cutting him off. "Don't worry about it."

Race turned back to the woman at his side. "Barbara, can I ask a favor? Will you show Mr. Blackman and Mr. Knight . . ."

"Garrett," Blackman corrected him smoothly.

"And Stan," Knight added.

Race nodded wearily, "Garrett and Stan . . . to guest rooms? I'd do it, but . . ."

"Go," she commanded. "I'll take care of it."

Race nodded and with a quiet "good night", he turned and disappeared through the kitchen doorway. The other three sat silently, listening as his dragging footsteps receded. After a moment, they paused hesitantly, and Barbara wondered what had made him stop. She was just about to get up to see what the problem was when they heard him begin to climb the stairs. It took her a moment to realize that rather than heading for the Bannon suite on the first floor, Race was going to the room that Estella had been using. She shook her head sadly and then turned and gestured for Stan and Garrett to follow her. "This way."

"Will he . . ." Stan began, but Barbara interrupted him smoothly.

"He'll be all right. He's just tired." Both Garrett and Stan could feel the defensive barriers go up. Silently, they just nodded and followed her out of the kitchen.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty**

  


The sound of the engine seemed loud to Jessie as she sat in the back of the small plane trying to curb the fear that gnawed at her. Plumes of white vapor escaped the three women, their breath frozen as they soared over the high mountain peaks, moving steadily toward their destination. It wouldn't be long now, but Jessie was impatient. No matter how bad things might get, it couldn't be worse than waiting.

She glanced over at Kefira who sat quietly beside her gazing out into the darkness. The young woman seemed totally calm and unconcerned, even though she knew just how dangerous this venture was. But there was no turning back. Both of them knew it. Jessie wasn't sure of all of the reasons driving Kefira relentlessly forward with this desperate plan, despite the impossible odds, but she suspected that their motives were similar. Jessie turned her eyes to the blackened sky outside the window. She had to get Jonny back. For her, there were no other reasons.

The last nine months had been a roller coaster. There had been days back before they moved to Boston when she woke up in the morning and wondered how she could even bring herself to get out of bed. And yet, the thought of seeing Jonny . . . feeling his arms around her . . . gave her the strength to face anything. And then they moved to Boston. Walking out the door of the Compound for the last time had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. The break with their parents had been so deep, and even with Dr. Quest's parting words still echoing in her ears, she had known it wasn't over. Unconsciously, she grimaced. Boy, had she been right about that!

Anger at Benton Quest still curdled her stomach. He had no right to undermine his son the way he had. Unbidden, she imagined the way Jonny must have looked as he listened to his father that morning, and her fists clenched in response until she could feel the nails digging into her palms. To have told him that he hadn't earned the job he held or the respect of his co-workers . . . she could feel her face flush in remembered fury once more. With an effort, she took a deep breath, trying to be fair. Benton Quest had no way of knowing that his son was too tired and stretched too thin to be able to cope with that sort of criticism. Dr. Quest had been sick, too, which couldn't have improved his temperament, either. But even making allowance for those things, she still honestly believed that the man was wrong to treat his son in this way. Their conversations never seemed to end pleasantly any more. Jonny was generally furious by the end. Or, worse yet, he was silent and withdrawn, the pain of the on-going dissension darkening his eyes until they were almost black. It was at those times that she could do nothing more than hold him close and pray that her love for him was enough to compensate for what he had lost.

She remembered telling Barbara Mason that the idea of setting out on their own scared her. It had, and there were days when it still did. And yet, she didn't believe she had ever been happier. Yes, they were broke. And yes, Jonny was gone a lot. But to walk in the door of that apartment to a place of their own . . . to see him there, waiting for her with that smile that was just for her . . . or to feel him crawl into bed and cuddle up to her after a long day and to know that he wanted nothing more than to be in that place with her . . . _God, I love him!_ she thought passionately. _"I've got to get him back."_

Suddenly, she felt Kefira's hand cover her clenched fists and she looked over to see the same fire reflected in her eyes. "We will get him back," she assured in a voice that was as inflexible as steel. "We will get them _both_ back." Jessie's glance flicked up to Jade, who met her gaze in the mirror mounted above the pilot's seat, and Jessie suddenly realized she must have voiced that last thought aloud.

Before she could think of anything to say, Jade said, "We're coming up on the border. Another ten minutes and I'm going to start taking her down, and about ten minutes after that we'll be coming up on your jump point."

Jessie glanced out the window once more and noted the first signs of the approaching dawn. "There's no way to speed it up any? Dawn's approaching and I really wanted to make that jump in the dark."

Jade shook her head. "No. I'm pushing it as much as I can already. As close as I can figure, you're going to end up jumping about five to ten minutes before the sun tops the mountains on the eastern horizon. It won't be full light, but it's going to be a long way from dark, too."

"Well, we'll just have to hope there's no one around with guns and a desire for some target practice," Jessie replied resignedly. "Come on, Kefira. Let's get ready." The two women maneuvered their way to the back of the plane and began donning their parachutes. Once Jessie had hers on, she turned and pulled a small crate toward her. It was one of the weapons crates that she had not rigged for the parachute drop. Using a crowbar, she popped the lid and pulled out the main base of a commando assault rifle. "You ever used one of these?" Jessie asked Kefira calmly as she deftly assembled the weapon.

"No," Kefira replied, watching her carefully. After a moment, she reached into the box and pulled out the base of the second weapon and began assembling it in the same fashion as Jessie had assembled the one she was holding.

Jessie could feel Jade's eyes on her as she checked the weapon and nodded. "Good. I told Paul I wanted them capable of full auto and they are." Grasping the gun by the grip, she snugged the stock against her upper arm and rotated the weapon so Kefira could see it clearly in the dimly lit cabin. She pointed out two separate latches. "Safeties," she said. "With this one in the down position, the gun won't fire at all. Up and it's ready to go. There's also a trigger safety that prevents the gun from firing if the trigger isn't depressed. And this one is particularly important. This is the full auto safety. In the down position, it's single fire. Set it to the middle position and it will shoot in 3-round bursts. All the way to the top and it will shoot steadily until you release the trigger or it empties the magazine." Reaching into the box again, she pulled out a transparent ammunition magazine. "Ammo. Magazine holds 30 rounds, and the gun will take up to three magazines side by side at a time. You can change one while leaving the other two in. Clear?"

"Yes," Kefira replied, examining the fully assembled weapon carefully. "What about the sights?"

"Adjustable rear drum sight. Also has a flip up night sight here." She turned the gun again so Kefira could see it. "One other thing . . . the stock folds if you need to get it out of the way. Think you can handle it?"

"I will have no problem," Kefira said confidently.

"Good. We've got full magazine loads for both guns plus 90 more rounds for each. There's also additional ammo in the crates." Jessie retrieved two more ammunition magazines from the box and snapped them into the gun. Then checking to be certain the safety was on, she draped the gun across her chest using the field strap."

"You're planning to jump with that?" Jade questioned her. "Is that smart?"

"If we're gonna jump in daylight, we're not going in unarmed. How are we on time?"

"Five minutes to weapons drop. I'm coming in at about 1,200 feet. We'll drop the crates and then I'll come around again at a much lower altitude for your jump. I figure if there is someone watching, the first pass will attract their attention. They won't anticipate a second run. Your drop will be about half a mile from where the weapons should land."

Jessie frowned. "Is that a good idea? What if someone gets to them first?"

"That would take some doing. Those crates are doing to drop square into the center of the excavation pit of Kefira's mine. Anyone spotting them will have to get through the perimeter fence and down into the pit to get to them. It will buy you some time that way."

"Fair enough. Come on, Kefira. Let's get that back cargo hatch open and get the crates ready to drop."

The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. They were able to get the three supply drops out without incident. Then, as Jade banked and began a sharp descent, Jessie and Kefira did a final check of their equipment in preparation for their own jump. Once Jessie was certain that everything was ready, she made her way to the front of the plane again. Coming up behind Jade, she laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "I owe you, Jade."

Jade glanced up at her and grinned. "Your old man would tell you that's a dangerous comment. You never know when I might decide to collect."

"Anywhere, anytime."

"I'll remember that. You better get ready. We're coming up on your jump point."

Jessie nodded. "You gonna be okay?"

"Don't worry about me, kiddo. I'm a survivor . . . always have been. You just concentrate on getting Jonny and Hadji out of that mess and back to Benton."

"All right. Take care of yourself, Jade."

"You, too. When you get back, tell Race I said 'hi'."

Jessie nodded and with a final squeeze of Jade's shoulder, she turned and made her way back to Kefira. "Ready to go?"

"Yes."

"Okay, let's do it then." With an effort, she slid the cargo door open once again. A blast of icy air enveloped the two. Jessie looked down and saw the ground, appearing much closer than before, skimming past her rapidly. Looking up again, she gave Jade a thumbs up sign, indicating that they were ready.

Over the roaring of the wind and the engines, Jessie heard Jade yell, "On my mark . . ."

"Follow me," Jessie said sharply to Kefira, and her legs tensed as she balanced on the edge of the doorway.

**_"NOW!"_**

Without an instant's hesitation, Jessie leaped. For a brief instant, she was buffeted by the plane's backwash and then the wind caught her. All sensation of falling disappeared and she felt as though she was soaring. The rising sun caught her in the face as the wind rotated her toward the east and she was dazzled by the diamond glint of its rays on the snow of the mountain peaks around her. She allowed herself to freefall for a count of ten to ensure she was clear of the plane and then pulled the ripcord. The chute on her back exploded from its pack and blossomed above her. She craned her head, searching for Kefira, and spotted her off to her left almost immediately. Just as Jessie caught sight of her, Kefira pulled her ripcord and her chute deployed, catching the wind and slowing her descent. They were on their way.

A quick survey of the skies around her showed no sign of the weapons. She wasn't surprised. In the time it took them to reach their own jump point, the weapons would have completed their descent. Now it was just a question of getting to the ground and making their way safely to them. One final look up confirmed that Jade had banked around and was heading straight back for the mountains again. Sunlight glistened on the wings of the plane and Jessie thought she saw the plane teeter slightly, as if Jade was saying one last goodbye. Then the world around her turned dark as she dropped into the shadow of the mountains.

Jessie turned her attention to the terrain below. They were west and slightly north of the mine site, and the ground below them was rocky and covered with low shrubs and patches of snow and ice. It was going to be a rough landing. Jessie looked over at Kefira and the other woman gestured to an area nearby. About a quarter of a mile away was what appeared to be a slightly more level and clear patch of ground. Giving Kefira an affirmative sign, Jessie pulled on the guidance cords of her chute and began drifting in that direction. Several minutes later, the two of them touched down squarely in the center of the spot Kefira had indicated. They had finally arrived in Bangalore.

They wasted no time. Keeping a wary eye on the surrounding countryside, the women gathered up the parachutes and stuffed as much of the silk back into the pack as they could, and then hid them in a small stand of low, wind-stunted shrubs. The extra layer of clothing that they had worn to protect them from the low temperatures during the jump soon joined the chutes, leaving both of them dressed in black leather once more. 

"You know where we are?" Jessie questioned.

"Yes," the Kefira replied confidently. "This way." She turned and set off at a brisk trot, unslinging her rifle and settling it into a semi-ready position as she went. Jessie set off after her without hesitation. Twenty minutes later, the two of them crouched behind a large boulder on the rocky hillside upslope from the mine site and surveyed the area carefully. The sun was just beginning to touch the floor of the small valley where the mine was situated.

"It looks quiet," Jessie said in a low voice.

"Yes," Kefira agreed with a frown. "Too quiet. There should be activity by this time. Work generally starts here at dawn."

"Maybe the work in the mine has shut down. I mean, with your father . . ."

Kefira's expression was blank as she replied, "Perhaps. But it does not matter. We still must get down there. Follow me."

The two of them slipped out from behind the boulder and began making their way down toward the fence, flitting from one patch of cover to the next, steadily moving away from the main gate. Jessie wondered about that, but decided not to question Kefira. This was her territory and presumably she knew her way around it. A few moments later, they reached the fence. By this time it was running parallel to the side of the mountain, about six feet from a cliff. With a sudden shock, Jessie realized that the escarpment now on their right wasn't natural. She looked up as the sheer cliff face rose a good 500 feet above her head. Long, smooth, vertical grooves were clearly visible in the rock above her.

Kefira followed her gaze and said softly, "This is a very old mine. My family has worked this area for at least five generations. The good quality stone here has been mined out and the work has been moving steadily northward. Some years ago they realigned the fence and the old mine face ended up outside of the perimeter. This will be our way in. Come." Keeping low, Kefira broke into a sprint. Jessie followed, not liking the feeling of being boxed in between the chain link fence and the high wall. Climbing the fence was not an option, either. The heavy layers of razor wire at the top told her that . . . as did the low hum that warned her that the fence was electrified. A few moments later they rounded a blind corner and came face to face with solid rock. The fence on their left ended abruptly as it grounded itself solidly into the rock face. "Here," Kefira said breathlessly, and without delay, she slung the gun across her back and began to climb. Jessie followed her, wondering how they were going to get in this way. About 30 feet above their heads was a steep overhang. The fence rose along the rock face until it met the top of the overhang. There was no way to get over it. But as Kefira climbed, she angled away from the fence. When she reached the overhang, she moved horizontally along the rock face, climbing confidently. Suddenly, about ten feet to their right, a dark slash appeared in the rock face. Coming to it, Jessie discovered it was a narrow chimney about four feet wide. Hands and feet braced on either wall, Kefira was already on her way up.

Jessie had experienced Kefira's amazing climbing skills before. Rockport had an outing club that Jonny, Hadji and she had belonged to and the group often hosted climbing excursions. While climbing was a long way from Hadji's favorite sport, he generally went along and was skilled enough at it when necessary. Kefira had accompanied them several times. At first, they all assumed that she hadn't been climbing before because she wasn't familiar with the gear. But the last time they went, all three of them realized that they were very wrong about her skill. They had been doing a technical climb when there was an accident. A rock face had given way beneath one of the newest members, and he had slid about 100 feet before coming to a stop, unconscious, on the very edge of a cliff, which sheared off in a drop of close to 1,000 feet. The only access to where he lay had been through a narrow cleft which was filled with razor-sharp rocks, making the use of ropes next to impossible. While Doug Sanderson and the other coordinator had discussed how best to get to the boy, Kefira had taken matters into her own hands. Unfastening all of her safety lines, she took on the cleft as a free climb. She was already a good ten feet down before anyone noticed what she was doing, and by that time it was too late to stop her. The climb required that she descend the 50 foot cleft and, once she reached the bottom of it, move horizontally along the rock face for another six or seven feet to a shallow ledge. From there, a series of stair-step-like outcroppings could be used to work down to where their fellow climber lay. But the cleft itself was virtually bottomless, hanging out over the sheer drop. One slip and she would fall over 1,000 feet onto the rock below.

Jessie remembered the ashen color of Hadji's face as he clung to that rock face and watched her. The silence had been absolute. Not a single sound broke the stillness . . . as though even the birds and insects watched her with bated breath. It had been one of the most brilliantly executed climbs Jessie had ever seen. The young man had survived as a result of Kefira's daring and skill, and she was showing it again today as she climbed the chimney. Without a moment's pause, Jessie followed her companion, certain now that whatever Kefira had planned, she knew exactly what she was doing.

When Jessie reached the top of the chimney she found Kefira waiting. Taking the offered hand, Jessie allowed Kefira to pull her up onto the top of a wide flat table of rock. They were well back from the edge that opened into the mine and behind them the rock face that formed one side of the chimney continued to rise to dizzying heights above them. In the warm, clear sunshine of the ledge, the large crystals in the rock glinted.

"We will rest here for a few moments," Kefira said, breathing deeply. "As long as we stay well back from the edge, we will be out of sight."

Jessie nodded. Moving away from the chimney, she hunkered down and leaned against the cliff face. "Where do we go from here?"

Kefira dropped down beside her and nodded toward the far side of their perch. "There is a similar chimney over there. It is a much easier climb, however, and goes directly to the ground." She flashed Jessie a grin. "It is within the perimeter."

Jessie chuckled softly. "You've done this before."

"Many times," Kefira agreed. "Father believed that I had never been to this mine, but he was incorrect. I have been to all of our mines at one time or another." She looked around her. "I always loved this one. I believe it is one of the most beautiful places in the world. When I was distressed, I used to come here and just sit looking at the countryside until I had recaptured calmness."

Looking around her at the clear mountain vistas, Jessie nodded. "I can understand that. I'm a bit surprised it's as warm as it is here."

"We are lucky. My mother told me it has been a warm fall and the heavy snows have not yet hit the mountains. Another month and we probably could not have gotten into the country this way."

"I'll take all the luck I can get right now. How much can we see of the mine from here? I'd like to orient myself and maybe see if we can spot the weapons."

"We should be able to see something from here." Kefira turned and crawled carefully toward the open sky ahead of them. As she neared the edge, she lay flat on her stomach and edged forward. Jessie joined her a moment later. Dizziness gripped her for an instant as she looked down. Ground level might be less than 25 feet away, but not from here. It took her a moment to realize that they looked directly down into the main excavation pit. The floor of the pit was probably about 150 feet straight down. On either side, the pit wall curved away, some of it cut back in stair steps and others in a sheer wall. Three huge dump trucks and a gigantic machine that Jessie didn't recognize were idle in the center of the pit, dwarfed by the size of the hole in which they sat. Beside her, Kefira had pulled out a pair of field glasses and was checking out the area. "I do not see the crates." She glanced over at Jessie. "It will not be good if we have to waste time searching for them. And we certainly cannot leave them sitting out in the hills."

"All we can do is get in and see what we can find. How do we get down there?"

Kefira pointed to her right. "We will climb down the chimney to get to the ground. From there we will not have much choice but to follow the rim road to the access road. It is the only way in." She frowned again. "I do not like the stillness. There should be people around. The watchman if nothing else."

Jessie frowned. "I don't like the idea of there only being one way in. We'll be sitting ducks. Can we climb down somewhere?"

"No. The machine . . . a saw, if you will, that cuts the rock out of the bed leaves the walls too sheer and smooth to climb."

"Damn. Well, if there's no choice, there's no choice. And we aren't going to find out what's going on sitting here. Come on."

The two of them climbed down the chimney quickly. Then, keeping to the shadows of the cliff face as much as possible, they made their way carefully around the pit to the long road that led to the bottom of the mine. Here, a small building sat perched a short way back from the edge. Bent low, the two darted quickly across the clearing and dropped down against wall of the building. Gesturing for Kefira to remain where she was, Jessie moved around the building cautiously until she came to a window that overlooked the road at the entrance to the pit. Rising carefully, she peered inside. It was empty. Dropping back into a crouch, she scanned the surrounding area carefully. The silence was eerie and it was still everywhere she looked. Staying close to the wall, Jessie edged back around to Kefira once more. "Nothing," she hissed softly when they were together again. "Building's empty and nothing is moving."

"I do not like it!"

Jessie thought briefly, then shook her head. "Neither do I. We're going to split up. It's stupid for both of us to head into that pit . If it's a trap we'll both be snared." Kefira nodded wordlessly. She didn't look happy, but seemed to see the logic in Jessie's argument. "I'll take the pit," Jessie continued in the same soft tone. "You check out the other buildings and see about rounding us up some transportation. You have the communication gear I gave you?" Kefira tapped her ear and when Jessie looked closely she could just see the tiny earpiece. "Good. Be sure your transmitter is on, too. That way we'll know if something happens. Ready?"

"Yes. Go with God, sister. I will join you soon." Jessie smiled and squeezed her shoulder, and then the two of them went to their separate tasks.

Jessie hugged the cliff wall as she cautiously made her way down toward the bottom of the pit. She still saw no sign of activity anywhere. As she peered cautiously around the corner of a switchback in the road, she caught sight of the crates. In that instant, she knew they weren't alone. The three crates were shoved tightly up against the rock face about 10 yards from where the road joined the pit floor. The parachutes had been detatched and were lying in a heap not far away. Long drag marks across the stone indicated the arrival location of the weapons. Someone had definitely moved them.

"Kefira, can you hear me?" Jessie hissed.

"Yes," the other woman replied immediately.

"We are **NOT** alone here. Watch yourself."

"The weapons?"

"I've spotted 'em." Silently, Jessie checked the safety on her rifle and advanced cautiously once more. Ahead of her, the road leveled out as it joined the floor of the pit and something about the way the cliff face looked warned her that there might be a blind spot ahead. Kneeling down, she picked up a fist-sized rock and lobbed it out in front of her. As the rock arched through the air, Jessie crossed the roadway at a sprint. As the rock struck the ground just short of the blind spot, Jessie leaped over the side of the road and dropped the remaining six feet to the floor of the pit. The men that flung themselves around the corner found nothing waiting but empty space.

"Trap," Jessie said softly into her microphone as she pressed her back against the wall and looked around quickly.

"Hold on," Kefira replied immediately. "I have found another way in. Keep them talking."

Jessie laughed grimly. "They don't have me yet. I'll keep 'em busy . . ." With that, she shoved away from the wall and took off at a run into the middle of the open area, heading for a large piece of mining equipment that sat several hundred feet away. Bullets kicked up chips of rock behind her as she ran. She returned fire over her shoulder, taking care to aim above the heads of her attackers. She had no desire to hurt these men until she knew for certain that they were enemies. Wild shouts met her return fire as the men retreated. Jessie rounded the corner of the large excavator and paused, breathing deeply. She peered around the machine quickly to see her attackers massing for a follow-up assault.

"Jessie?" Kefira's agitated voice echoed in her ear. "Jessie are you all right? I heard gunfire."

Rising Jessie sent another burst of fire in the direction of her attackers.

"We're saying hello," Jessie replied. "How long are you going to be? I'm pretty out-numbered. I don't think they've thought about outflanking me yet, but . . . No, wait a minute. I think it just occurred to them," she corrected herself as she saw one man gesture to a group and wave them toward her left. "Where are you?"

"Do you see an opening in the cliff face anywhere?" Kefira demanded, her transmission breaking up slightly.

Jessie risked another quick darting look. "Yes. Almost directly behind them. Looks like the opening to a mine shaft."

"Good. How many men?"

"Twenty . . . maybe twenty-five. They don't look or act like soldiers. Half of them are milling around like ducks on a target range."

"My father's men. Do not hurt them if you can help it."

"Gotcha. You close?"

"Yes."

"Then it's time to open negotiations." Rising slightly, she called out loudly in Hindi, "Hold your fire! I am not your enemy." Jessie risked a quick look again and saw that her attackers had now all found cover amid rubble and various storage drums outside the mine entrance.

After a long moment a voice replied, "And we are to believe you are a friend instead? If that is so, why did you fire on us?"

"Because you fired on me first," she replied reasonably. "And you will notice that I did not hit any of you."

"And we should be grateful for that?" Jessie winced at the sarcasm.

"Look, can we call a truce long enough to talk for a minute?" she asked. "Give me a chance to explain why I'm here."

"Throw out your weapon and come out with your hands raised and then we will talk."

"Will you do the same?"

"No."

"Then we have a problem."

"I do not know who you are, but you play a dangerous game. Your Hindi is good, but I do not believe you are a citizen of Bangalore. My country is at war and the government has decreed that any non-national is to be shot on sight."

The breath hissed through Jessie's teeth as she absorbed that information. So it was that bad.

"Those are not the orders of the Sultan," she responded confidently. "Hadji Singh would never give such an command. If you follow men who issue such orders, then perhaps we are enemies after all."

Dead silence followed that comment. "Who are you?" the voice demanded harshly. "What do you know of the Sultan?"

"Are you ready to talk?"

There was a long pause and then the man said grudgingly, "We will not attack you if you will promise the same."

"Fair enough." Jessie rose cautiously and stepped out from cover, keeping her hands in clear sight and her gun pointed away from the people that faced her. Slowly, a few at a time, they rose and moved out to face her. She soon saw that her initial estimate had been fairly accurate. There were roughly 30 people, all men. Most of them appeared to be laborers, dressed in rough, well-worn clothing and their ages varied widely, from teenage to late middle age. One appeared slightly better dressed than the others, and it was he that stepped forward. His face was set in hard lines and he glared at her uncompromisingly.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I am here on business," Jessie replied vaguely, wondering what the hell had happened to Kefira. She stood her ground without flinching as the man took a menacing step forward.

"What sort of business would bring you to this place without an invitation and without coming in through the front gate?" he demanded. Then he gestured behind him. "And I suppose those belong to you?"

Jessie's gaze followed his gesture and she saw that he meant the crates. They appeared to be unopened. Looking back at him calmly, she replied, "Yes."

"So you had someone drop them out of an airplane in the back country of Bangalore and you came to retrieve them."

"Something like that, yes."

"Why?"

"Because as you pointed out, it was unlikely the Janissary troops guarding the borders would allow me to enter the country _or_ bring those in with me. And I thought I might need what's in them while I was here."

"Janissaries are banned in this country."

"They are here, though," she said, staring the man down. Then she added softly, " . . . aren't they?"

Frustration and fury were written on his face as his grip tightened on his weapon. _"Who are you???"_

"Enough." The word was said quietly and calmly, but carried an unmistakable finality. Jessie heard a startled murmur from the back of the group of men that faced her and suddenly the crowd split down the middle like the parting of the Red Sea. Moving like the royalty she now was, Kefira walked calmly through the crowd. She held her gun easily in one arm. Dressed all in black with the pendant that Hadji had given her hanging openly around her neck, glittering like blood in the morning sun, she could have been the vengeful Kali reincarnate.

Jessie recognized an opportunity when she saw one. Without hesitation, she dropped to one knee and bowed her head. "Sultana Singh," she said with reverence.

"Sister," Kefira acknowledged as the whispered voices grew. "I heard gunfire. I trust no one was hurt."

Jessie rose smoothly as Kefira reached her side. "No, Excellency. We merely exchanged a few greeting shots to open discussions."

A smile flickered at the corners of Kefira's mouth. "I see. I believe there was no harm done, then. But perhaps it would be better to curb our exuberance for now."

"As you say, Excellency," Jessie said, and private laughter filled their gaze as the women's eyes locked briefly. The unintelligible murmurs grew, carried on a rising tide of excitement as Kefira and Jessie turned to face the crowd and the people got a close look at Kefira for the first time. 

_"She called her 'Sultana'!"_

_"I know her! It is Rajeev Subramanian's middle daughter!"_

_"They said she was dead!"_

_" . . . Sultan's wife . . ."_

**_" . . . Freedom . . ."_**

And then, from the very back of the crowd, a woman's voice rose sharply, cutting through the noise.

"It is the fulfillment of the prophecy! The House of Singh rises again to free the country and bring destruction to their enemies! It begins! It begins!" Pandemonium erupted as the crowd began to cheer wildly. Behind the men who faced them, more people began streaming from the mine entrance and the throng seemed to grow exponentially. Within minutes, there seemed to be hundreds of people milling about in the excavation pit. The man who had been speaking to Jessie stared at Kefira in stunned amazement. This possessed young woman was a far cry from the naïve, determined young girl that used to follow her father around in the mines. Kefira raised her hand and a hush fell across the crowd once more.

She turned to the man standing in front of her and said, "Mr. Kumar, it is good to see you again."

Scrambling to gather his wits, the man cleared his throat and then bowed deeply. "Excellency. Forgive me. I did not realize that the Sultan had already taken you as his wife. Further, we thought you dead . . . along with the rest of your family."

Kefira smiled grimly. "The Sultan does not make his enemies aware of all that goes on. As a result they were not as thorough as they had hoped."

Kumar's face altered and he looked at her sadly, "Lady, your parents . . . "

"Yes, I know," she replied, and for an instant the grief and rage were visible. But just as quickly, they were gone and when she spoke again, her voice was calm and determined. "But there is more at issue than simply the murder of my parents. I would not have their death be in vain. Tell me, Mr. Kumar, what are you doing here?" She looked around her at the silent crowd, which now included women and children. "And with your families."

Kumar gestured back toward the mine entrance and Kefira and Jessie turned to follow him. He looked out across the sea of people and called out, "Back to your places. Remember, you must stay out of sight. Word will be sent once I have talked with the Sultana and she has told us what we are to do."

Jessie caught Kefira's arm and said softly in English, "We ought to watch the approaches. It's too much to hope that the plane won't have attracted attention."

Kefira looked back to see Kumar eyeing her. "Do you have eyes in the hills, my friend? My arrival may not have gone unmarked."

The man's eyes flicked to the sky and then widened briefly. "You came . . ."

"Yes. Do you keep watch?"

"We have been, but usually only during the day. The Janissaries have been here twice but we have taken care to make it seem that everything appeared deserted. They hunt all that were loyal to your father, burning homes and villages, and killing any they find. They think to break the support for the Sultan by doing this. But the people are loyal, Lady . . . to both you and your husband."

Kefira nodded. "I have never doubted it. But I fear the plane may draw attention to this place and we must be cautious."

"I'd suggest a lookout," Jessie broke in, gesturing back the way they had come. "On the ledge were we surveyed the mine. It's high ground and you can see for miles. And not just the road. We need to watch the countryside, too. They may be more cautious now, particularly if Birla is beginning to feel pressure from multiple sources."

"I agree." She looked at the people who still milled around her as though reluctant to leave. Spotting a man in the crowd, she called, "Mr. Chawla . . ."

A man stepped forward eagerly and bowed. "Excellency!"

"Your middle son . . . is he here?"

"Yes, Excellency." The man turned just as a young boy of about eleven pushed forward. He stumbled up to her and bowed awkwardly.

"Hemant, isn't it?"

"Yes, Excellency," the boy replied shyly.

"I remember you as a monkey who loved to climb everything in sight. Is this still true?"

"Yes, Lady!" the boy replied, and an excited grin split his face.

"Good. Then I have a job for you." Kefira looked up at the crowd still surrounding her and said loudly, "Hear me, my people. I would have you know the woman who stands here with me today. This is the Lady Jessica Bannon and I have named her sister, for that is what she is to me, both in spirit and in fact, for she is the betrothed of the Sultan's brother. I ask that you make her welcome and honor her as you would me." As the people around them acknowledged the introduction, Kefira turned back to the boy. "I would have you go with Lady Jessica, Hemant. She will show you a place where you may keep watch. If anything moves you are to warn us. She will show you howt. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Excellency!" the boy replied and bowed again.

Kefira looked at Jessie once more. "Take him to the ledge and set him to watch. Then return to me as quickly as you can. There is still much to do and we have little time."

"I'm on it." Gesturing to the young Indian boy, Jessie turned and left as a fast pace, as Kefira turned back to Kumar and gestured toward the mine entrance.

"Let us find a place to rest and you can tell me what has transpired. Then we will plan our next move."


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty-one**

  


Jonny shifted his shoulders experimentally, testing the fit of the tunic. It still felt a little tight, but he thought it would probably do. Near the door, Hadji kept a wary watch on the corridor. The two of them had made their way to the servants quarters where, after some digging, they had managed to find a non-descript white tunic and a pair of well-worn black pants that fit Jonny well enough to serve.

"This was a lot easier when we were younger," Jonny hissed softly to his brother as he shoved his old clothes into a cloth bag and handed it to Hadji.

"It is not my fault that you are built more like Father than I am," Hadji replied softly. Then he looked his brother over carefully. That feeling of disorientation struck him again as he took in Jonny's drastic change in appearance. Shaking himself, he nodded. "You will pass. Try to hunch your shoulders a little. It will help minimize your height." He nodded again as Jonny followed his instructions. "Better. Now listen to me. I have told you how to get to Mr. Patel's office from here. You will need to move quickly, but do not give the appearance of haste. That will draw attention. Keep your expression neutral and do not make eye contact with the people you meet in the corridors. Do not talk to anyone unless you absolutely must do so. If you have no choice, act subservient and tell them that you are new to Mr. Patel's staff and that you were sent on an errand and are due back. When you get there, you will find three secretaries. It does not matter which one you speak with. Simply say that you have a message for Mr. Patel that you have been directed to convey personally, and that you must speak with him immediately. If they ask you who it is from, tell them that you are not at liberty to say. If they say he is not there, try to find out where he is and when he is expected back. If they refuse to tell you anything, ask to speak with Mahavir. He is Mr. Patel's nephew and will be the one most likely to be able to provide information. Find out what you can and then get out of there quickly. If I am correct, Mr. Patel is being watched and it is likely that if you stay too long you will be detained and questioned either by Mr. Birla or the captain of the Janissaries. You cannot allow yourself to be taken by either of those two people. As soon as you have learned what you can, return here. This will be the safest place to get back into the passages. I will not be able to pace you in the corridors you will be taking, so I will make my way directly to Mr. Patel's office. I will give you 15 minutes to get there. If you have not arrived by that time, I will come looking for you."

Jonny had been peering down the corridor trying to gauge the activity in the area. At that comment, his head snapped around and he glared at Hadji. "Whatever happens, you do _**NOT**_ leave these passageways, you hear me?" he hissed at him sharply. "I don't care if the earth opens up and I get grabbed by the Devil himself, you are not to put yourself at risk. If things go that wrong, you split . . . leave the palace and get out into the countryside."

"Jonny, I will not leave you in . . ."

Jonny pulled the door shut and turned to Hadji. "Yes, you _will_! Bangalore can't afford to have you in Birla's hands. You wouldn't survive the night. You get away . . . find people you can trust to back you and then come at him. Better yet, raise an army and _then_ do it."

"Jonny, he will kill you." The agony in Hadji's voice was clear.

"Not if he doesn't have you," Jonny argued. "If he takes me here in the palace . . . and manages to figure out who I am . . . he'll know you're in-country and that will make you a serious threat. He's not going to kill me - he'll figure that he can use me to lure you in." He placed his hand on Hadji's shoulder and stared him straight in the eyes. "Whatever you do, do **not** let him coerce you into that. Because if you do, not only will you ensure my death, but you will ensure the deaths of countless others throughout Bangalore." Hadji tried to pull away, but Jonny refused to release him. "The truth is, Hadji, that Bangalore is in the middle of a civil war. And like it or not, you _have_ to fight it. It's what being a ruler is all about . . . doing what is the best for all concerned, not just a single individual. And that often means making the hard choices."

With a sharp movement, Hadji pulled loose and turned his back on his brother. He was silent for a long moment. Finally, in a choked voice he replied, "I - I do not think that I can. Not that one . . ." Only silence greeted that admission, and when Hadji turned again, Jonny was already gone.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Arun Birla paced restlessly, his brilliantly colored robes flashing as he moved in and out of the late afternoon sunlight that bathed Neela Singh's private quarters. His temper was getting seriously frayed. Things were not going at all as he had planned. Both Neela Singh and the Sultan were still missing and no one seemed to have any idea where they were. His Janissaries were meeting open resistance everywhere they turned, and angry mobs had claimed many of his best men. Rumors were beginning to surface that members of the Sipahi were starting to organize against him, and many of the peasants were flocking to their banner. And now the Indian government was beginning to press him about the situation. Their pointed questions about a coup attempt made it clear that word was beginning to leak to the outside world about what was going on in Bangalore. It was becoming increasingly obvious that to stave off the rising tide against him, it would be necessary to produce either the Regent or the Sultan . . . neither of which he could find!

He had searched every square inch of these quarters but he could find no sign of an entrance other than the obvious ones. And yet, he was absolutely certain that somewhere in this palace were secret passages. And he was equally certain that wherever they were, Neela Singh would be found within them. Long before Neela was last seen publicly within the palace, he had put his own men on the doors with orders not to allow her to leave. And yet, six days ago she had vanished like a will-o-the-wisp, with no warning and no trace. So far, he had been able to keep her disappearance from being known, but she _had_ to be found. She was a serious danger to him if he couldn't control her. And what about Vijay Patel? He was also gone, and that worried him almost as much as the Regent being missing.

In frustration, Birla picked up a small piece of statuary and hurled it against the far wall, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. His Captain of the Guard was right . . . he had severely underestimated Hadji Singh. He had assumed that because the boy was young and had not lived in Bangalore most of his life, that he would be ignorant and easily manageable. What he had found, instead, was that Hadji's friendly, calm demeanor hid a razor sharp mind, a nearly limitless social conscience, and a will of iron. The boy had thwarted him at virtually every turn, and had done it in such a way that for a long time, he didn't even realize he was being manipulated and blocked from his goals. The fury that consumed him when he finally realized it was still an inferno that screamed to be given release. When he finally got his hands on that young man, he would rue the day he was ever born!

He had also misjudged the extent of the people's devotion to the young Sultan. Within the last half an hour, he had gotten word that that another unit of Janissary troops had been attacked and destroyed in the rural countryside outside of the city. And it didn't seem to make a difference that ten peasants were dying for every one guard. They simply flung themselves at their enemies en masse until the sheer volume of their numbers overwhelmed and destroyed their adversary. 

And he was developing international difficulties as well. When he began to make concerted moves on the throne, one of the first things he had done - under the Regent's auspices, of course - was to close all the foreign embassies within Bangalore. He cited the unrest of the population as the cause, saying that the government feared for the safety of the Ambassadors and their staff. Unfortunately, that didn't stop the inquiries or requests for information. And in the last day, those demands and their accompanying threats had escalated dramatically. This morning, the United States Ambassador to India had called, demanding to speak with the Sultan. He had spoken to the Ambassador personally, and was told that investigations were being made on behalf of the Sultan's American family who had been unable to reach him for several days. When informed that the Sultan was not in the country, the ambassador had then demanded to talk with the Regent. When that request was also denied, he had hung up, very angry and promising that the country of Bangalore had not heard the last of the matter. And the Indian government was no different. Their newspapers and radios and television stations were all running horror stories of refugees and the atrocities they had endured. Some were even calling for military intervention in the conflict. The Indian prime minister was openly threatening and had even voiced his intentions of calling for an emergency meeting of the United Nations Security Council to consider sending military forces into Bangalore. Without exception, all of them were calling for a personal appearance by either Hadji Singh or his mother.

With a snarl, he spun, his robes glinting in the sun once more, and strode out of Neela's quarters. One way or the other, he was going to get to the bottom of this. The members of his personal guard snapped to attention as he stomped by them. "You!" he barked, pointing a finger at one of the men. "Find the Captain. Tell him I want him and twenty of his men at the office of Vijay Patel . . . **NOW**! We are going to get some answers."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Jonny entered Vijay Patel's office and looked around. Off to his right was a small alcove with a divan, two chairs and a low table . . . obviously some form of waiting area. To his left was a large wooden desk of some dark, highly polished wood. A moderately sized telephone console, a computer, printer, and a few other smaller pieces of office equipment identified the desk as belonging to one of the secretaries. At present it was empty. Directly in front of him, the room opened out spaciously and he saw two other desks made of the same wood . . . obviously for the other two secretaries Hadji had mentioned. The desks were positions in such a way that you immediately knew that they served as gate access to the four doors that were visible across the back wall. To his far left, he could see a hallway that disappeared into the back. The overall appearance of the office was one of quiet, calm efficiency.

Jonny immediately moved toward the one desk that was occupied. Stopping in front of it, he sketched a small bow to the middle-aged woman who sat there and said in flawless Hindi. "I beg your forgiveness for the interruption, but would it be possible to speak with Mr. Patel for a short time?"

The woman looked him over carefully and then replied, "No, I am sorry. Mr. Patel is not available at this time." Her tone was pleasant but firm, with just a hint of regret.

"I understand that it is an inconvenience, but it is most urgent."

"I cannot help you, sir. Mr. Patel is not here."

"Can you tell me when he will return?"

"No, I cannot. I do not know how long he will be or when he is expected back."

By this time, alarm bells here going off very loudly in Jonny's head. The longer they talked, the more tense the woman was becoming. She had smiled at him when he had walked up initially, but now she had a heavy frown on her face, and one of her hands had unconsciously doubled over into a fist so tight that her knuckles were white.

"I bear a message for Mr. Patel from my master," he explained to the woman "I was told to give it to Mr. Patel personally."

"If you would care to leave it, I will make sure he receives it when he returns."

Jonny shook his head. "I am sorry. My instructions were very specific. I was to give the message to Mr. Patel himself."

"Then I am afraid that we can be of no assistance to you."

Jonny stood for a long moment, as though debating on what to do. Finally, he said, "Perhaps Mr. Patel's assistant may be able to help me . . ."

"Mr. Patel's nephew, Mahavir, is here," the woman acknowledged reluctantly.

"Then if I could speak with him for just a moment, perhaps . . ."

But before Jonny could finish the sentence, the door behind him flew open violently and armed men poured into the office. Jonny stepped to one side as a man in brilliantly colored robes pushed his way through the guards and strode up to the desk. With a shock, Jonny realized that this was the man from the incident at the front of the palace.

"Where is he?" the man grated, leaning belligerently across the desk toward the woman.

She shied back, the color draining from her face. "I - I d-d-do not know, Mr. Birla. He - he has been g-g-gone for some d-d-days."

Jonny's gaze sharpened as he observed the man in front of him with carefully veiled interest. So here was their enemy in the flesh.

"Gone where?" Birla snapped at the woman

"I - I - I do not know, E-e-excellency . . ." The woman was practically witless with fear. Jonny was steeling himself to step in when a new voice interrupted.

"May I be of service, Excellency?"

Birla jerked upright, and all eyes in the room turned toward the young man who had entered from one of the offices on the far side of the room. He was moderately tall, with medium dark skin, straight black hair and dark eyes. His attitude was calm and pacifying, and he moved forward to confront the angry man without hesitation.

"I would speak with your uncle, Mr. Patel. Where is he?"

Mahavir Patel shook his head regretfully. "I wish I could tell you, Excellency. He had a meeting with some men in the city last Thursday. He left the palace that morning, intending to be back in the afternoon for a subcommittee meeting, but never returned. Word came to me via messenger that something had detained him and that I was to notify the members of his subcommittee that he was unable to attend the meeting. We have not heard from him since. Our family is seriously concerned."

Birla stared hard at the young man for a long minute. "I do not believe you," he finally replied in a soft, deadly voice. "I believe you know exactly where he is and you have been directed not to tell me."

Mahavir shrugged, spreading his hands helplessly. "I am sorry you believe that, Excellency, because it is not so. I really do not know where he is."

"And the Regent?" Birla continued in the same rigidly soft tone. "Do you know where she has gone?"

Jonny could feel the young man who now stood on his immediate right tense. "The Regent, Excellency? I have not seen the Lady Neela in some days. I had heard that she was in seclusion in her quarters, awaiting the arrival of the Sultan from America."

"You know that is a lie," Birla said, stepping toward Mahavir threateningly. "They are together . . . the Lady Neela and Mr. Patel . . . I want to know where they are . . . what they are planning."

Birla's stance was threatening, but Mahavir didn't flinch. "I am sorry, Excellency, but I know nothing of this. As I said, I have not seen my uncle since last Thursday and it has been longer than that since I have seen the Regent."

The two men stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Then, with a snarl, Birla spun. "Take them all," he directed to his guardsmen. "Perhaps some time with the keepers of the dungeons will loosen their tongues. And search this place. I _will_ have Vijay Patel and the Regent . . . one way or the other."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Less than ten feet away, safely hidden in the secret corridors of the Royal Palace, the Sultan of Bangalore watched his brother being led away by the guards. After a moment, he turned and stumbled away blindly, moving further and further from the sounds of destruction in Mr. Patel's office. Finally, he staggered into a wall, unshed tears blurring his vision, and came to an abrupt halt. He felt as though he couldn't breathe. Forced into doing a job he hated, separated from the woman he loved . . . his wife . . . with the sure knowledge that she would follow him into this hell, and now his brother taken by his enemies . . . it was suddenly more than Hadji could bear. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor in the blackness of the filthy corridor, totally overwhelmed. "Jonny . . ." he whispered brokenly, but silence was the only reply. 


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty-two**

  


The family room in the Quest mansion was dark. Only the fire, flickering in the huge fireplace, cast any light into the large room. Barbara Mason sat in the enshrouding darkness staring at the flames and trying not to think. It had been a horrific day. Two emergencies in Rockport had forced her to leave the Compound to attend to other patients. Neither had been pleasant and by the end of the day, she had been exhausted and utterly depressed. A soft tapping caused her to look up.

"I'm sorry to disturb you . . ." Garrett Blackman said quietly, advancing into the room.

"It's all right," Barbara replied, waving him in. "Have a seat. I could probably do with some company." She rose and crossed to the fireplace, where she stirred the dying embers and tossed a couple more logs onto the grate. Then she returned to her chair.

"Bad day?" Garrett asked sympathetically.

"Not good," she agreed wearily, scrubbing at her eyes and trying to ease the throbbing in her head.

"Tell me about it," he encouraged her. When she looked at him in surprise, he smiled slightly. "Go on. It might make you feel better."

Barbara sighed and leaned her head back against the chair. "It's just one thing after another right now. I had a patient this morning . . . from all indications, a healthy, happy 34-year-old man who had it all. Good job, promising future, nice house, wife, two beautiful children . . ."

"And?" Garrett prompted when she faltered.

She rubbed her head again. "And he died of a massive coronary at 9:30 this morning. No warning at all. He just dropped. His wife kept saying to me, 'But how could this happen? He played basketball with his friends last night. He was fine.' Over and over. I had no answers for her. I don't know how it happened . . . or why. Just, one minute he was fine and the next he was dead. How _did_ it happen? Did I miss something? Were there warning signs I didn't see? I don't understand. And then tonight . . . "

"What happened?"

Barbara slumped even further into the chair as though the weight of the world were pressing down on her shoulders "A stupid, senseless accident. The local kids tend to 'make their own fun' because all of the attractions are overrun by tourists. Lately, they've taken to drag racing on a stretch of road leading to the Ragged and Bald Mountain hiking areas. The speeds were high, the road was littered with damp leaves and . . ." She closed her eyes and swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "One died at the scene, two more after they reached the hospital, three are so badly injured they may never be right again, and the only child of the Camden mayor is paralyzed from the neck down as the result of a crushed spinal cord. He'll live, but . . ." The image of that boy as he was wheeled into the ER at Penobscot Medical Center would be engraved into her memory until the day she died.

"I'm sorry," Garrett said gently.

Barbara gestured vaguely, and after a long moment she rolled her head and looked at Blackman. "When it rains, it pours," she said dispiritedly. "As if Benton and Estella weren't enough . . ."

"How is Estella?"

"She's stable but borderline. I talked with Dr. Eftekari a little while ago. They should take the baby. Her body won't be able to tolerate the toxemia much longer. But Race is right, too. The risk to the unborn child is extremely high. Not to mention that Estella's body recognizes that the child hasn't gestated long enough and it's not ready to have the pregnancy over. There's a very real possibility we could lose both of them. Dr. Eftekari is going to hold off as long as he can, but I don't know how long that will be. Race is practically beside himself."

"I can imagine. And Dr. Quest?"

Barbara closed her eyes again and turned her head away so Garrett couldn't see her face, but the pain in her voice was clear. "Getting worse by the hour. His memory retention for new information is no more than a few hours. He still remembers his family . . . and me . . . but many of the townspeople that he hasn't been as closely associated with are gone now. The past, prior to the incident that caused this, is also beginning to disappear. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to what he remembers and what he doesn't. E-Earlier today he a-asked me . . ." The memory of that question suddenly swamped her and her voice cracked on a sudden, uncontrollable sob.

Garrett leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on her forearm in concern. "Barbara?"

She refused to look at him, struggling desperately to control her ragged breathing and the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. Finally, she murmured, "No . . . no, I-I'm all right. Please . . . just give me . . . a m-minute." The silence between them grew until finally she turned her head and looked at the man again. "You see, it's just so . . . hard . . . to see him this way. You never had the chance to know him . . . the way he was . . . before all of this happened. He was an incredible man . . . warm and giving. He adored his sons, was concerned about everyone around him, and worked hard to make the world a better place. And had an incredible wit and sense of humor. Do you know how rare that is in a man as intelligent as Benton Quest? He had no delusions of grandeur. And all of his money? He never flaunted it to anyone. Yes, he set up grants and trusts that the community benefited from, but he never made a big deal about it. There was no project in this town he hadn't donated to. Many of them, he funded totally. But more often than not, the donations were totally anonymous . . . he didn't want to be recognized for doing it. It was enough that he could help others. To see him like this now . . . and to know there's nothing I can do to stop it . . ." She pressed her hand to her head as though it ached and closed her eyes once more. "It's just not fair," she whispered.

"You mustn't give up hope," Garrett urged her. "Keep trying . . ."

"Trying what?" she questioned wearily. "There's nothing left to try. Jonny and Hadji are the only hope left, and even if they were to arrive back home this instant, with the rate the damage is advancing, they wouldn't have enough time to stop it before it completes the cycle. It's just a matter of time now."

"What if . . ."

"WARNING. LONG DISTANCE PERIMETER SENSORS HAVE DETECTED AN AIRCRAFT APPROACHING FROM THE EASTSOUTHEAST AT A HIGH RATE OF SPEED."

Above them, the sudden sound of footsteps could be heard and an instant later, Race appeared on the stairs. "Identification, IRIS?"

"NONE AS YET, ALTHOUGH AIRCRAFT CONFIGURATION MATCHES THAT OF THE QUEST JET BASED OUT OF NEW YORK."

"Challenge it," Race snapped. "I want to know who's on that plane."

"ACKNOWLEDGED." Barbara and Garrett met Race in the entryway, a look of tense excitement on their faces.

"Jonny and Hadji . . . ?" Barbara breathed, hope rekindling in her eyes.

"Maybe . . ." Race replied cautiously.

"AIRCRAFT HAS CONFIRMED DESTINATION AND HAS REQUESTED CLEARANCE TO LAND. IT SHOULD BE NOTED THAT ALL RESPONSES HAVE BEEN AUTOMATED. NO CONTACT HAS BEEN MADE WITH THE PILOT."

"Is it coming in on autopilot then?" Race demanded, his face turning grim. Behind him, Stan Knight appeared in the doorway.

"NEGATIVE. IT IS UNDER MANUAL CONTROL."

"All defenses to full! Weapon systems on line . . ."

Garrett reached out and grabbed Race's arm frantically, "Wait! Jessica said she was sending . . ."

Race snatched his arm away and glared at the other man savagely. "I am not going to shoot it down. But I'm also taking no chances. IRIS, have you confirmed that it's one of ours?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

"Engage system override. Lock out the pilot and bring her in yourself. I also want you to secure all doors until I give the authorization to release them. And access the internal sensors. I want to know who's on that plane." Then he spun and disappeared in the direction of the library. Stan moved swiftly to get out of his way.

Garrett looked at Barbara in concern. "Are you sure he's not . . ."

"IRIS," Barbara said quietly, "access stored bioscans of Quest family members and compare to the sensor readings you're receiving. Are any Quest family members on that plane?"

"NEGATIVE."

"What can you tell me about the passengers?"

"SENSORS INDICATE THREE INDIVIDUALS. ONE IS MALE JUDGING BY OVERALL SIZE AND BODY MASS. HEARTRATE CONFIRMS THIS TO A PROBABILITY OF 97.378. SIZE, BODY MASS, AND VITAL SIGNS INDICATE THE REMAINING TWO PASSENGERS ARE MOST LIKELY JUVENILES, POSSIBLY ONE MALE AND ONE FEMALE, HOWEVER THERE IS A MUCH LOWER DEGREE OF CERTAINTY ON THIS. VITAL SIGNS FURTHER INDICATE THAT BOTH ARE UNDER CONSIDERABLE STRESS. HEARTRATE AND RESPIRATION ARE ELEVATED . . ."

"Scared to death," Barbara murmured. She turned as Race reappeared carrying a rifle. She caught his arm firmly causing him to check his pace. "You don't need that. That's the plane Jessie took to India. IRIS has confirmed it. Jessie told us she was sending Kefira's brother and sister back here and you know she would never send them with anyone she didn't trust. Those children have to be terrified . . . their parents murdered, their only living relative off in a war zone, and facing the prospect of greeting total strangers. You meet them with a gun and it will only make things worse."

Race wavered, looking indecisive. "But what if . . ."

"IRIS can handle anything that might happen if it's a trap," she assured him. "And you can hang back until you see who's with them. I'm guessing that whoever the man is, he'll be the first one out and that you'll know him on sight. Furthermore, Jessie would never send them here with someone who wasn't prepared to defend them."

Race stared at her for a long moment and then his shoulders slumped and he rubbed his eyes wearily. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking . . ."

"You weren't," she replied with a gentle smile. "You were reacting. Race, you're exhausted and wound up so tight you're jumping at shadows. Leave the defense to IRIS and let's make sure those children know that they're welcome here."

"THE AIRCRAFT HAS JUST LANDED."

"Bring it around to the hangar, IRIS, and hold it until we get there." Race turned to Blackman and Knight. "You two wait here. You don't have clearance for the grounds."

Both men nodded silently and watched as Race and Barbara left hastily. Once the door closed behind them, Stan exhaled sharply. "That woman's got more guts than I do! Lordy, I don't think I'd want that man upset at me."

A smile quirked the corner of Garrett's mouth. "Now we know where Jon got his self-sufficiency and tendency for decisive action. Come on, I'll bet all three of the new arrivals will be ready for something to eat. We can at least try to make ourselves useful."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Race left the house at a jog, quickly crossing the wide expanse of lawn that separated the house and the landing strip. Barbara had a difficult time keeping up with him. As she ran after him, she watched him closely. The distant lights from the hangar reflected off of the sharp planes of his face, making him look distant and forbidding. A vision of Estella looking lost and bewildered suddenly rose before Barbara's mind's eye and her voice seemed to echo softly. _I mean, I used to know him. Even with all the secrets he kept, I think I knew him._ Barbara wondered suddenly who this man really was . . . what were the secrets he kept so carefully hidden? One thing was certain, the man who strode beside her now wasn't the one she'd known for the last ten years. Breathlessly, she asked, "Race, are you all right? That business back there . . ."

For an instant, the look he turned on her was that of a stranger. Then he seemed to shake himself and he attempted to smile. "Sorry. I'm not accustomed to being helpless." Then he stopped abruptly, just outside of the ring of light that bathed the now-stationary aircraft. "Wait . . . " he said to her softly. Then, he lifted his watch to his lips and said, "All right, IRIS. On my mark, release the latches and open the main hatch. And if there is any sign of a weapon from whoever comes to that door, I want you to drop them cold. Clear?"

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

"Okay, let's see who we've got. Do it, IRIS."

Through the clear night air, they both heard the sharp, metallic sound of the locking mechanism as it cycled, followed by a soft sigh of escaping air. The hatch door swung open and the folding stairway settled to the ground. For a moment, nothing moved and Barbara could feel Race twitch slightly beside her. Then, a single figure appeared in the doorway. Arms spread from his sides, his hands palms up and empty, the man paused at the top of the staircase and squinted into the glaring lights trained on the plane.

"Paul!" The name seemed to explode from Race. Then he was moving again, running toward the plane at top speed. "PAUL!" he called loudly. As Barbara chased after him, she saw the man turn and say something to those people still in the plane and then descend the stairs quickly. The two men met a few steps away from the base of the stairs. Race's hand caught at the other man's shoulder. "Jessie. Where is she? What's going on?"

Barbara arrived just in time to see the two children step hesitantly into view at the hatchway door. They held each other tightly and both looked petrified. "Race!" she said and tugged at his arm urgently. He looked down at her and then followed her gaze and caught sight of the new arrivals. Paul opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance, Race took a step forward and addressed the girl quietly.

"Maia?"

The girl looked at him for a moment and then down at her brother. Saying something softly to him, she pushed him behind her gently and then stepped forward to the edge of the stairs. "You are . . . Jessie's father?"

"Yes," he agreed, coming to the foot of the stairs.

"My sister sent us to you, sir. She said that she wished us away from Bangalore . . . to a place that she knew was safe."

"You and your brother are welcome here, Maia."

She seemed to hesitate, then reached around and drew the little boy forward. He pressed against her side, his eyes huge and frightened. The two of them clung to each other at the head of the stairs, not moving. Behind Race, Paul started to move forward, but Barbara stopped him.

"This is my brother . . ."

"Srinivasan," Race finished for her quietly. "I know. Your father spoke of all of you often."

That seemed to shake her. "You knew our father?"

"Yes. We met while he was here with your sister. We had the chance to talk frequently and we became friends."

"Our father is dead."

She said it simply and with such finality that it caused Race's throat to tighten. _Shellshocked,_ he thought silently. _They're so young and they've seen too much . . ._

Carefully, he reached out a hand to her. "Will the two of you come down? It's cold out here and it will be better in the house." Still she hesitated and Race tried desperately to think of something that would reassure her enough to get her out of that cold, windswept doorway and where it was warm. Abruptly, inspiration struck. Smoothly, he added, "Until your own rooms are ready, I thought that you could stay in Kefira's room . . ."

The boy's head snapped around and he stared at Race intently. Maia swallowed convulsively. "K-Kefira has a room here?" she asked shakily.

Race nodded. "Yes. She knows that this is her home in this country, just as it's Hadji's."

Srinivasan looked up at his sister in wordless appeal. Maia looked from her little brother back to Race. "Can we do that?"

"Of course," he replied readily, searching his mind frantically in an effort to remember what was in the room that Kefira had used. He prayed she had left things behind that would be familiar to these two terrified children. He climbed the stairs carefully until his face was on a level with theirs and then reached out a hand to them again. "I'll take you." For an instant longer, they hesitated, searching his face. What they saw, Race didn't know, but finally the boy released his death-grip on his sister and reached out to him hesitantly. Race lifted him easily into his arms and Srinivasan wrapped his arms around Race's neck and buried his face into his shoulder. Holding the boy tightly in one arm, he took Maia's hand in his free one and led her down the stairs. Reaching the ground, he turned for the house without pausing.

Paul stared after them in amazement. "How did he do that?" he demanded of Barbara. "They wouldn't say a single word to me the entire trip and all but hid from me."

"Race is good with children," Barbara replied easily and then glanced up at the plane. Raising her voice, she called, "IRIS, can you hear me?"

"AFFIRMATIVE," a disembodied voice replied faintly through the night air. Paul jumped and looked around a bit wildly.

"Seal the plane and leave it where it's sitting for now. Then kill the hangar lights and return to standby security status."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. STATUS OF NEW ARRIVALS?"

Barbara contemplated Paul for a moment and then replied, "Full family status for the two children. The gentleman called Paul may have restricted visitor status similar to that of Mr. Knight and Mr. Blackman with no access to Dr. Quest's study."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. I WILL MAINTAIN LIGHTS UNTIL YOU HAVE RETURNED TO THE HOUSE."

"Thank you, IRIS." Barbara looked at Paul and gestured toward the big house in the distance. "After you, sir."

"Who the hell are you?" Paul demanded, watching her warily as he turned and hurried after the distant figure who was now nearing the front courtyard.

"I suggest we allow Race to ask the questions."

"I'm getting so sick of being in the dark all of the time," Paul replied sourly, slowing slightly and looking around with interest.

"I'd suggest you don't dawdle," Barbara said without so much as a backward glance. "You won't like the results if you end up out here by yourself." Then she broke into a trot.

With a muttered oath, he set off after her and managed to cross the threshold into the house a step behind her. He stopped short just inside the door, frozen by the tableau that confronted him. Maia stood still as a stone in the very center of a huge entryway. She, along with all the others, was gazing upward at a man who stood two-thirds of the way down the sweeping staircase. Paul recognized him . . . but the recognition was tempered with shock. That Benton Quest was ill was immediately obvious. There was a gauntness about him that spoke of lost weight and insufficient rest. His face had a skull-like appearance and his eyes were sunken. A feverish light burned in his eyes and the knuckles on his hand were white as his fingers clutched the railing like claws.

"Who are you?" he rasped at the child. "I don't know you!"

Maia seemed unable to say a word. Srinivasan whimpered as Race set him on the floor and stepped forward, one hand making calming gestures. "It's all right, Benton . . ."

Benton Quest's eyes focused on his old friend and for an instant there was no sign of recognition at all. Then something flickered and slowly the panicked anger drained away to be replaced with confusion. He looked around blankly and then his gaze returned to Race. "W-Where are we? Race, what is this place?" His eyes roamed the room again. "And these people? I-I don't understand. Where's Jonny? And Rachel?" Then he stopped and suddenly put a hand to his head. "No - no, that's not right. Rachel can't be here. R-Rachel's dead . . . isn't she? I-I seem to remember that. And Hadji . . . I remember Hadji . . . but . . ."

All of them seemed frozen, watching the brilliant man crumbling before their eyes. Incredibly, it was Maia who responded. Crossing the floor to the foot of the stairs, she gazed up at the older man with a calmness and maturity that astonished the others. "Hadji is not here, sir. I am told that he and his brother are forced to be away at this time. But he is a very good friend of my sister and they have asked that I come here to stay with you until you are feeling better."

Benton stood motionless, staring blankly at the child as she slowly climbed the stairs toward him. "He - he did?" he finally managed.

"Yes, sir," she replied, stopping on the step immediately below his. "You see, my parents were . . ." here, she seemed to stumble a little and swallowed hard. Finally, she took a deep breath and continued. "My parents were killed, sir, leaving my little brother and me with nowhere to go. My sister sent us here because she said that Hadji would want us to be safe until other arrangements could be made. She also said that you have not been well and asked that I assist in any way that I can. Will that be all right with you, sir?"

Benton gazed at the girl for a long time and then, slowly, he lifted one hand and brushed the top of her head gently. "What's your name?"

"Maia."

Suddenly, a light kindled in his eyes and the confusion seemed to disappear. "It's nice to meet you, Maia." He seemed to struggle for a minute and then he said slowly, "Your sister is . . . Kefira . . . isn't she? Hadji's fiancée."

Maia hesitated for a split second and then nodded, "Yes, sir."

Benton nodded and then his glance flicked to where Race stood. "And that is your brother?"

She nodded. "His name is Srinivasan, but we all call him 'Vassey'."

Benton smiled at the boy who stood clinging to Race's leg and then looked back down at the girl in front of him again. "You are more than welcome here, Maia . . . both you and your brother." He took a deep breath. "Your sister was right. I'm not well just now and my memory isn't very good." And in that split second, the light in his eyes died once more. He looked around and said tentatively, "T-this is my home . . . I think . . ."

"Yes, sir, it is," she agreed gravely when he hesitated.

He looked at her and smiled again. "You are always welcome in my home."

Maia sketched a bow and replied, "I thank you, sir. You are very kind. Will you allow me to do as my sister instructed? It is late and you are tired, and I would sleep easier if you would allow me to see you to your room and assure myself that you are resting before I retire." She caught his hand and began to climb the stairs again, tugging at him gently.

Looking a bit dazed, he followed her up the stairs with a hesitant, "All right . . ."

All of the others watched with their mouths hanging open as Maia led Benton away. At the top of the stairs, they paused and the others could hear Maia's soft voice, "This way, sir?"

"No, I think it . . . I mean . . . I-I'm not sure . . ."

"That is all right. It is a very big house, but I am sure we can find it . . . " Then the voices faded away as the pair disappeared down the hall in the direction of Benton's room.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, very softly, Race said, "I'll be damned."

"That one's a lot like her sister," Garrett commented with an amused smile.

"Maybe . . . maybe she'll be good for him," Barbara added hesitantly. "Maybe having a child in the house again will cause him to focus and buy us some time." Suddenly, she spun and faced Paul squarely. "Where are they?" she demanded strongly. "Jonny and Hadji. Where are they? They're needed here **_now_**."

"Take it easy, Barbara," Race advised, laying a calming hand on her arm. "We'll get answers in a minute . . ."

Stan stepped forward and knelt in front of Srinivasan. "Hello, Vassey," he said gently. "Can I call you Vassey?" The child stared at the stranger silently and shied back, edging away from him.

Race rested his hand on the boy's head and knelt carefully beside him. "This is Stan, Vassey. He's a friend of Kefira's." Stan smiled encouragingly at the boy, but Vassey sidled even further away, trying to hide behind Race.

"Are you hungry, Vassey?" Stan coaxed. "We can get you something to eat." The boy hid his face against Race's back.

Barbara reached out and tipped his head up. She smiled encouragingly at the boy. "It's all right, Vassey. We won't hurt you . . ." Two big tears rolled down Vassey's cheeks as he continued to try to hide behind Race.

"Paul, can you . . ." Race began, but Paul shook his head sharply.

"Don't look at me. Neither of them like me at all. The only reason there wasn't a fight over this back in Delhi was because Kefira flat out told them they had to go with me. They huddled in the back of the plane as far away from me as they could get for the entire trip."

Barbara looked at Race with an apologetic smile. "It looks like you're the only one he trusts, Race."

Race sighed softly, but turned and carefully put an arm around the boy. "It's all right, Vassey. You're safe here. Are you hungry?" The boy huddled against Race, keeping a wary eye on everyone else. Slowly, he nodded.

"Well, what do you say we get you something to eat, then?" He released the boy and moved away, starting to get to his feet. The movement sent the child into a frenzy. Crying out, he flung himself against Race. His small arms wrapped around Race's neck in a stranglehold and he clung frantically, sobbing uncontrollably into his neck. The abrupt movement threw Race off balance and he sat down hard on the parquet floor, clutching at the boy protectively. "Hey - hey, Vassey, it's all right. There's nothing to be scared of. What's wrong?" He looked up at Barbara helplessly. "What the hell . . ."

Barbara shook her head. "What can you expect? His parents are dead, he's uprooted from everything he's ever known, he's been shunted off to strangers, and now the only familiar person he knows has disappeared upstairs. It's no wonder he's upset. He seems to have attached himself to you." She smiled slightly. "Looks like you're it. If you can cope, I'll go up and make sure that Maia's managing with Benton."

Race cuddled the boy gently, making soft soothing sounds and nodded at Barbara. As she disappeared up the stairs, Race rose awkwardly. Hiking the child up slightly, he carried him into the kitchen. The others trailed along behind him and watched as Race moved efficiently around the kitchen, pulling items out of cabinets and the refrigerator with one hand, while carrying the child in his other arm. Vassey continued to cling to Race, his face buried in his neck. Two glasses, a bottle of apple juice, and a couple of graham crackers materialized quickly, followed by a bowl and spoon, a packet of instant oatmeal, some sugar, and a jug of milk. Race opened the packet of oatmeal, dumped it in the bowl, added some water, stirred it up and shoved it into the microwave. Then he poured some of the apple juice into one of the glasses and sat down on the edge of one of the bar stools. Relaxing his grip on the boy, he eased the child down onto his leg. "I have something for you, Vassey," he coaxed gently in Hindi. "Here . . . do you want some juice?" After a moment, the boy's grip around Race's neck slackened and he turned his head enough to look down at what Race was holding. "It's okay," Race encouraged him. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay right here. Come on . . . you told me you were hungry." Race offered the child a piece of the graham cracker. Hesitantly, Vassey took the cracker and began to nibble on it. Race looked at him inquiringly. "Do you like that?" An almost imperceptible nod caused Race to smile. "Good. Now, you want the juice?" The boy reached for it with one hand and Race deftly shifted him slightly so both of the child's hands were free. "Come on, both hands. That's a boy . . ."

Little by little, Race encouraged the child to eat. The tremors that had shaken his body faded and Race could feel him begin to relax. He retrieved the oatmeal, stirred it up, added sugar and milk, and then settled comfortably onto the bar stool with Vassey securely in his lap. After filling the second glass with milk, Race handed the child the spoon and urged him to try the oatmeal. Soon, Vassey was eating as though half-starved. Finally Race looked up at the others with a soft sigh. "Okay, crisis averted . . . at least for now."

"Your talents never cease to amaze me, Bannon," Paul said dryly. "Where did you learn how to do that?"

"I've had more experience with traumatized little boys than I care to recall," Race replied a bit sharply. "Now, Paul, where the hell is my daughter and the others?"

"You got any coffee in this mausoleum?" Paul retorted disagreeably, responding poorly to the snappish demand.

"Sit down," Garrett replied, gesturing to a chair. "I'll get it."

Race shook himself and said quietly, "Sorry, Paul. I'm a little on edge. What can you tell me?"

Quickly, Paul summarized the events from the time Jessie first contacted him to his departure from Dehli. He concluded grudgingly, "She's good, I'll say that much for her, Race. I had no clue that the woman I knew as Monica Leveck was anyone other than who she represented herself to be. She must be a real asset to the agency."

"Don't be an idiot," Race replied wearily. "Do you think I'd let them get anywhere near her? For God's sake, she's only 18."

Paul stared at him. "Eighteen? She's only 18???" The stunned expression on Paul's face was almost comical as he obviously struggled to absorb that bit of information. "And the others? The blonde boy . . ."

". . . is probably Jonny, Benton's youngest. He's the one she's gone after. He's 18, too. I'm assuming the other young man you mentioned is Hadji, Benton's elder son . . . also the legal and hereditary ruler of the country of Bangalore. Jess brought them to you for weapons?"

"She didn't want to. I made her. I wanted to make sure they were trained to use what I was giving them. Jessica didn't name them, though. Is Jonny blonde, blue eyes, slightly over six feet, about 160?" Race nodded. "And Hadji . . . Indian, about 25 or 26, six foot, slender, medium brown skin, dark eyes?"

Race nodded wearily once again. "That's Hadji. He's 19, by the way. And from what you've said, you know Kefira."

"Yes."

Abruptly, Race shoved his chair back and swore viciously at the ceiling. "What did we _ever_ do to deserve being in this mess?!" he snarled in impotent fury. Vassey whimpered softly, curling in on himself. Race responded immediately, leaning forward and putting his arms around the boy. "Shhhh. It's all right, Vassey," he crooned softly in Hindi. "I'm not angry at you." The boy burrowed against Race again, clinging to him tightly.

"But you said Jessica isn't agency-trained?" Paul asked. "You're sure? Because she reacts like it. Where did she . . ." He paused suddenly, staring at Race and then shook his head. "No - never mind. Stupid question. Of course you trained her . . ."

Race interrupted. "I trained all three of them. They can hold their own in a fight . . . usually . . ." An uncomfortable silence followed that statement. Finally, Race sighed and rubbed his face. Softly, he muttered to himself, "But a war . . . there's no way to help them . . . nothing I can do . . ."

Paul gazed at his old friend for a long moment and then said encouragingly, "For whatever it's worth, Jessica and Kefira both seemed absolutely certain both young men were still alive and free, probably in Bangalore City somewhere. As I understand it, their intention was to gather themselves an army and take the city by force, if necessary. Kefira was convinced that Hadji had the popular support and that they would be able to get the manpower to accomplish this."

Race nodded. "That's what you said and I agree with Jess' logic, up to a point. You didn't say how they were planning on getting into the country, though. Bennett says that place is shut up tight . . . all the borders are closed and heavily guarded."

Paul raised in eyebrows in surprise. "You keep in touch with Bennett? You surprise me again. As for getting in? They were doing a high altitude parachute jump into a remote region of the mountains near one of Kefira's father's mines. I gotta give that daughter of yours credit . . . she's got guts. She's as crazy as you are, but she's definitely not lacking in nerve."

"I'm assuming she came to you originally because she needed weapons?"

Paul nodded. "Knew exactly what she wanted, too. Brought the two young men to me first looking for small stuff . . . handguns, knives, that kind of thing. Then she came back a second time for the heavier artillery. It was when she asked for that stuff and refused to tell you what she was doing that I insisted on going along." Paul shrugged, his shoulders sagging wearily. "I stuck with her as long as she'd let me. I tried to talk her out of it, Race. Believe me, I did."

Race sighed and ran a weary hand over his hair. "I know. But as long as Jonny was in the middle of that mess over there, no one could have stopped her. Jade flew 'em in?"

"Yeah."

"I was afraid of that."

Paul was quiet for a moment, staring down into his coffee cup. Then he shook his head and looked up at him again. "I don't think you have to worry about Jade. She won't leave Jessica hanging." Paul shrugged helplessly at Race's doubtful expression. "I can't explain it. I know it's not like Jade to stick her neck out for someone, but I really got the feeling that she'd back Jess any way she could." A smile tugged at his lips. "Her loyalty and fondness for you seems to have been passed on to your daughter."

Race snorted. "Loyalty? Jade is loyal to money. You pay her enough and she'll stick with you . . . up to a point. But she doesn't risk her skin for anyone."

Paul shrugged helplessly. "I told you I can't explain it. I can only report what I saw."

In the ensuing silence, Stan pointed and commented softly, "Looks like your young friend is down for the count."

Race looked down. Vassey still sat in his lap, but now his head was slumped forward on the counter and he appeared to be sound asleep. "I wonder what my chances are of putting him to bed?" Shifting slightly, he immediately felt the boy stir. "Slim to none," he said ruefully. "Come on, let's go in the other room." Picking the boy up again, Race led the way back to the family room. Race went immediately to the sofa and sat down sideways, propping his legs up across the cushions. After an initial murmur of protest, Vassey had been quiet and when Race relaxed into the sofa, the boy shifted until he lay draped across Race's lap and torso. He rested his head against Race's chest and with a soft whimper, drifted off to sleep again.

Race glanced out the doorway toward the staircase in the entryway. "I wonder how Barbara is managing?"

"Would you like for me to check on them?" Stan asked.

Race shook his head. "That's okay. If she needs help, she'll call."

"I haven't met your friends," Paul said pointedly.

Race leaned back on the sofa, allowing his eyes to drift closed as he shifted around to get more comfortable. Exhaustion was overtaking him quickly and he felt himself starting to drift. He made a vague gesture at the others and leaned his head back trying to ease the headache he suddenly realized was thudding behind his eyes.

When it became obvious Race wasn't going to reply, Garrett stepped forward, offering his hand. "Garrett Blackman . . . and my friend, Stan Knight."

Paul shook the proffered hand, eyeing the two men warily. "Paul . . . Jean-Paul . . . Bussac."

"Mr. Bussac," Garrett acknowledged, but there was a touch of sarcastic humor in his expression . . . as though he questioned the truth of that identification.

"So you're a friend of Race's then?"

"Jon's, actually."

"Oh." There was a somewhat lengthy pause as the three men eyed each other uneasily. Behind them, the sound of snoring warned them that Race had dropped off to sleep. Paul nodded toward the back of the house. "Is there anyone else here?"

Garrett frowned slightly and demanded, "Why do you ask?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't know?" Paul replied irritably.

"Is there a reason you should?" Garrett shot back as Stan moved to stand beside him challengingly.

Paul stiffened, his hands doubling over into fists, and rocked forward on the balls of his feet." I don't think I like your attitude . . ."

"Gentlemen, please . . . " All three men jumped at sound of the soft voice. As one, they turned toward the doorway and saw Barbara Mason standing there looking very tired. "It's been a very long day. We're all on the same side here so let's not fight." She glanced past them to where Race lay on the sofa and a smile touched her lips. "Looks like both of them are out." She contemplated them or a moment longer and then asked softly, "IRIS, can you get a picture of Race and Vassey there on the sofa?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

"Do it then. I don't think this image is one that Estella will want to miss."

There was a brief pause and then IRIS said, "THREE DIGITAL IMAGES HAVE BEEN TAKEN AND ARE NOW AVAILABLE IN THE FAMILY PHOTO LOG ON THE HOUSE COMPUTER SYSTEM."

"Thank you, IRIS. Print all three to the color printer in the study, please." Then she looked at Garrett and Stan. "You think we can get Vassey out of there without waking him?"

Stan looked doubtful. "We can try, but I don't hold much hope. The boy's fixed on Race and I don't think he'll be separated from him very readily."

Barbara sighed. "Just what Race needs . . . another responsibility. Well, we do the best we can." She walked across the room and leaned down to shake Race's shoulder gently. With a slight start, he woke and blinked at her.

"Barbara." He struggled to sit up, slipping an arm around Srinivasan and hugging him gently as the child stirred uneasily. "How's Benton?"

"Sound asleep with Maia curled up on the edge of the bed. She refuses to leave him. Keeps insisting that her sister told her to help. I think she's exhausted and emotionally overloaded and she's grabbed onto something that gives her an anchor. I'm going to leave her there. It's probably good for both of them."

Race turned and swung his feet to the floor. Small arms clutched at him convulsively again. "Maia's not the only one," Race said, rubbing his cheek against the top of the child's head.

Barbara laughed softly. "Go to bed, Race, and take Vassey with you. You can try to put him in Kefira's room . . ."

Race shook his head. "He wouldn't go. If he's comfortable with me, it's best he stay with me. He won't be any trouble." He glanced at the three men still standing near the door into the family room and then looked back at Barbara apologetically. "I hate to impose on you again, but can you see that everyone has a place to sleep . . ."

"Not me," Paul broke in. "I'm headed back to India. I'll follow Jessie and Kefira and . . ."

"No," Race said firmly. "At least, not tonight. If you're determined to go back there, then we need to see if we can figure out something we can do to help her. Paul, I'm beat. I desperately need to get some sleep. I'm not thinking clearly. Give me until tomorrow morning before you take off."

Paul gazed at him in silence for a long moment. _What is this costing him?_ Paul wondered to himself. _To sit back and do nothing when his only child is at risk._ "All right. I'll wait until tomorrow. I'd welcome the opportunity to say hello to Estella again anyway." The sudden change in Race's expression caused Paul to stiffen. "What's wrong? Where's Estella? Isn't she here?"

Race shook his head. "No," he said in a low voice and then he turned and walked away without another word.

Paul looked at Barbara. "Oh God, she hasn't left him again . . ."

"No, nothing like that," Barbara replied hastily. Then she sighed. "She's hospitalized in Portland . . . has been since last night."

"The baby?"

"Yes. She's having a rough time."

"And he's not with her?" Paul asked incredulously.

Barbara shrugged and spread her hands. "His wife's hospitalized and facing surgery, the man he's sworn to protect is desperately ill and getting worse by the hour, his daughter and the two boys he loves like sons are caught in the middle of a war on the other side of the globe, and now he's got two young children who are dependent on him. He's spread so thin he doesn't know which way is up any more. Estella sent him away . . . one less choice to make. And do you think he'd be here waiting to hear the fate of those three kids if he had any other choice?"

"I wondered . . ." Paul murmured softly.

"He's here because he has to be . . . no one else can hold up this end. I can help. So can Garrett and Stan to a small degree. But it all collapses if Race leaves. Jessica, Jon, Hadji and Kefira simply have to cope on their own this time. There's no other way."

"God, what a mess." "That's one word for it. Come on, there's another guest room upstairs. I'll show you where it is. Garrett . . . Stan . . . do you need me for anything?"

Both men shook their heads. Then Garrett said quietly, "I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but Stan and I really need to get back to Boston. Stan's needed to help hold things together until Jon gets back, and I can be more effective in putting pressure on the Indian government if I'm in my own office."

Barbara nodded. "I understand. I'm grateful for all the help you've provided so far. But can I ask you to do the same thing Race asked of Paul? Wait until tomorrow morning. We'll sit down and go over everything before you leave, and figure out what to do from there."

Garrett hesitated and finally nodded reluctantly. "All right. We can do that."

"Thank you. Now, let's all see if we can get some rest."


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty-three**

  


Night had fallen by the time Jessie headed back into the mining tunnels. Following Kefira's directions, she had led Hemant back to the ledge overlooking the facility to set up the watch post. It was clear the instant she and Hemant had arrived that these preparations were vital. The first thing they saw was a column of Janissary soldiers on the main road. They were less than five miles away and moving rapidly in the direction of the mine. She had radioed Kefira immediately and all sign of activity in the mine pit vanished. Jessie had raked the surrounding area with field glasses searching for advance scouts but had seen no sign of any. Finally, she transferred the radio equipment to Hemant, instructed him to take absolutely no risks, and then made a run back for the mine.

Luckily, she had made it back without incident. Their enemies appeared to be severely overconfident, assuming there would be no one here who would dare oppose them. They did no recon, and had marched straight up to the mine gate. But that is where they stopped and appeared to be at something of a loss about how to proceed. The electrified fence was high and heavy and the sheer cliff walls seemed to intimidate them. After two attempted assaults on the gate left men senseless, they had backed off. The leader had ordered a handful of men to search the hills and the rest had settled down and made camp just outside the main gate to the mine. Jessie had been observing them secretly from the large equipment garage in the center of the compound. She radioed Hemant, warning him to find a hiding place, and then settled in to wait.

It was noon when a shout brought her back to her observation window once more. She saw two men on horseback ride directly up to a large tent that had been set up near the center of the encampment. At their calls, the tent flap had opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in tight breeches, a long sleeved coat-style shirt and a brilliant red sash came out of the tent to meet them. Jessie couldn't hear their conversation, but she didn't need to because draped across the saddle of one of the horses were the abandoned parachutes. Sharp orders from the man in the red sash sent about half of his troops scrambling out into the open countryside. The hunt was on in earnest now. After overseeing the mass exodus, the man had turned back toward the mine. Walking slowly up to the gate, he had stood for a long time staring into the enclosure with a penetrating gaze. Jessie could almost feel him looking directly at her. Her internal radar told her that this man could sense their presence.

Jessie had remained at her post until the sun dropped behind the tall peaks to the west and shadows enveloped the valley. Being careful to stay low and make no sound that might alert the enemy, she had slipped to the entrance into the mines and went in search of Kefira. An inquiry to one of the many people hidden there directed her to a side tunnel where Kefira had supposedly established a resting place for the two of them. When she entered their makeshift quarters, she found Kefira already there. The Indian woman looked as weary as Jessie felt.

"So do they remain at our gate?" Kefira asked as Jessie dropped down onto one of the mats that had been arranged on the floor.

"Yeah, they're still there," Jessie replied, accepting the bowl of rice Kefira offered her. "I don't suppose there's a back door out of this place you haven't mentioned, is there?"

"No. There are several exits to the mine shafts themselves, but all of them open into the enclosure in one place or another."

"Swell. That means that our only way out is right through the front gate. And I really don't think those soldiers on our doorstep are going to be leaving any time soon."

"Why not?"

"The man that leads the group . . . the captain, if you will . . . he knows we're here."

"But how? We have given no outward sign of our presence and Mr. Kumar assures me that the mine has given that impression since the day after my parents were killed. He has no reason to believe . . ."

Jessie shook her head slowly. "Doesn't matter. I've seen his kind before . . . hell, my Dad is just like him. It's a sixth sense. No, he knows we're here. Right now, he's waiting to see what we'll do. How long he's prepared to wait is anyone's guess. Unfortunately, he's probably got all the time in the world and we don't. If we don't get to Bangalore City and find Hadji and Jonny soon, either they're going to end up dead or Dr. Quest is. We can't afford to stay penned up like this. What about the people here? Who are they?"

Sitting up, Kefira set her bowl aside and began to unbraid her hair. "They are exactly who Mr. Kumar said they were . . . the villagers who were loyal to my father. Many of the men and boys used to work for Father in the mines. They are also farmers and local merchants. When they fled their homes, they took their wives and children. With my father dead, they knew of nothing else to do other than to turn to his main mine foreman, Mr. Kumar. He was the one who decided to consolidate everyone and hide them at this mine."

"Are they armed?"

"Yes, to some degree. Better than I expected they would be." Kefira's smile was slightly bitter. "My father was no fool. He did not want war, but he must have seen it coming. Mr. Kumar said that he had been stockpiling arms so that the workers could defend the mines if the need arose. As the people withdrew from the lowlands, Mr. Kumar saw that the weapons were brought with them. They have also taken some rifles from Janissary troops they confronted along the way. But even so, there is not enough to outfit all of them."

Jessie set her bowl aside and stretched out on her back, staring up into the darkness beyond the reach of the flickering light of the oil lamp. After a moment, she said heavily. "You've got some hard choices to make, Kefira. We have to get out of here. Because there's no back door, there's only two ways to do it. One: We can walk out the front gate into their waiting hands and hope that they don't kill us all. I don't know what they do with prisoners, but if we could convince them to take us to Bangalore City . . . without them finding out who you are . . . we might be able to make a break for it once we get there."

"No," Kefira said quietly as she ran a comb through her long hair. "Even if we could convince them to take some of us to Bangalore City, they would never take us all. And Mr. Kumar says that the Janissaries do not leave witnesses behind. Any they do not take with them they slaughter and leave lying where they will be found . . . as examples to others who might think to defy them."

"Then our only other choice is to fight . . . hit them head on and take them out."

"Can we do that?"

"Yes. I watched them all day and I'm certain that they have nothing equal to the firepower we brought with us. But you have to know up front, Kefira . . . people are going to die. We are going to have to kill. There is no other choice. And not only the enemy will die. Some of your people here will, too. Maybe even women and children. If we take this road there is no going back . . . it will be all or nothing."

"What are you thinking?"

Jessie sighed and then sat up to face Kefira squarely. "I said back in Mumbai that a man under pressure make mistakes. One of the most common mistakes is to focus too closely on only one thing, and ignore the others. I've spoken to some of the folks here, too, and they say that the people are fighting . . . they aren't running away. From what they told me, the death toll is appalling. They just fling themselves at their enemies in such numbers that eventually their foes are simply overwhelmed. There's no coordination . . . no planned attacks . . . just mob action."

Kefira shuddered. "So what is your point?"

"That maybe it's time to use the mobs to better purpose. Blast our way out of here and leave this place. Once we're out into the countryside, we rally the rural populace and show them _how_ to fight this war to win. Mr. Kumar's brother told me about a Janissary stronghold about halfway between your father's house and the main road to Bangalore City. It's believed to be the ammunition and weapons storehouse for the Janissary troops based in the field. He also told me that there are Sipahi troops out here, as well, and assures me that these men are still loyal to Hadji. If we can properly arm the locals and get them to follow men who have been trained to fight, we stand a chance of developing an army capable of opposing the Janissaries."

"That will take time."

"Not as much as you might think. Sipahi troops have already identified the storehouse and have been pulling their men together to attack it." Jessie sighed. "I'm sorry, but I've already sent word to them of our presence and told them to begin gathering everyone they could find. If all goes well, they will be waiting for us."

"How?" Kefira demanded sharply.

"I sent Hemant about an hour ago."

"Hemant!" Kefira exclaimed in horror. "He is just a boy!"

"There are no "boys" in this fight," Jessie said brutally. "The Janissaries and Birla made that choice. They kill, torture and maim indiscriminately. Because of that, there are no true non-combatants. Birla will take his revenge on whoever he can lay his hands on . . . including children." Jessie shook her head at the look Kefira gave her. "You must understand this right now or this fight is lost before it even begins. There are only winners and losers. You said it yourself. If the men outside that gate get their hands on the people here, they will kill them all. Isn't it better to die fighting for freedom than to simply be led to the slaughter? Hemant was the only one in a position to get out, so I sent him to the Sipahi with a message."

"What message?"

"'The House of Singh rises once more. Rally the people and await word. A leader will come.'"

"And I am that leader."

"Yes. The people will follow you. After your greeting here, I don't doubt it any longer."

Kefira was silent for a long time. Finally, she looked at Jessie again and the agony was written all over her face. "Do you have any idea how many people will be killed if we do this?"

"Yes," the other woman replied evenly. "But it will be fewer than if Birla is allowed to continue with his plans. And remember, Kefira, if Birla wins this war, it won't just be those who die in the fighting . . . it will be generations of people who are forced to live under his tyranny."

After a time, Kefira sighed. "Yes, I know. And I also know that we cannot allow Mr. Birla to succeed in what he is attempting to do. Hadji had hoped to stop him without bloodshed . . ."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that now."

"Yes." The resignation in her voice was clear. Then she straightened and squared her shoulders. "So what do we do?"

Jessie nodded and relaxed slightly. Following Kefira's example, she began to unbraid her hair as she marshaled her thoughts. "We have an advantage here because of the weapons we brought with us. But we can't go nuts using them for a couple of reasons. For one thing, we have limited quantities. Although I told Jade I needed them to end a war, I really didn't intend to have to wage a full-scale one. I'd need to check the exact numbers, but I think there are no more than 12 missiles for the launcher and probably two-dozen grenades. Paul wasn't able to get as many as I asked for on such short notice. That means that the primary advantage they give us is a short-term one. We need to conserve them for when they can do us the most good."

"That makes sense," Kefira agreed, offering Jessie the comb she had been using. Taking it, Jessie flipped her hair forward over her shoulder and began combing it absentmindedly as she continued her train of thought. 

"Also, I have no desire for a massacre. I'll use the missile launcher if I have to, but I'd prefer it be at non-human targets."

"I understand. But I don't believe you will have much choice tomorrow morning. I see no other way out of this situation. And the way the enemy is grouped outside of the main gate, they are a perfect target."

"Yes, I know. But I'd actually thought that I'd go for the mountainside behind them. If we can catch them unaware and give our people time to get out of the gate . . ."

Kefira shook her head. "No, Jessie, that will not work."

"Why not?"

"Because the people we have with us are farmers and miners. They are not trained soldiers. The men waiting outside the gate for us are. They are mercenaries of the highest order, trained to fight. If we are to follow through on what you have planned, then we have no choice but to use every advantage we have to its maximum effect." Kefira paused, gazing at her companion seriously. When Jessie offered no response, Kefira added softly, "You know that it is true."

Finally, Jessie sighed deeply. "Yes, I know," she acknowledged softly. Her shoulders sagged and she looked up at Kefira. "This really sucks, you know?"

"Yes, it does. When do we strike?"

"An hour before dawn."

"Before we have light to aid us?"

Jessie nodded wearily. "The dark will cover our movements and they won't expect an attack then. The closer we get to daylight, they readier they will be."

"Very well. I will tell Mr. Kumar. What of after the attack?"

"Those fit to fight will come with us. We'll need to round up transport. Will that be a problem?"

"No."

"The women, children and the injured should move, but that may not be possible. It will depend on how thorough we are with the attack. If possible, they'll stay here. If not, they'll have to disperse into the mountains until this is over."

"All right. I will have them begin preparations. Now, you should rest. I will return shortly."

Picking up the lamp, Kefira strode out of their resting place, leaving Jessie in the dark. She lay there silently, thinking of the coming conflict. She had been in firefights before. She had even killed before. But she had never instigated a confrontation with the express intent to kill those opposing her. The idea was nauseating. The men on the other side of that fence were human beings who had just as much right to live as she did. She didn't want to kill anyone. "They will kill me," she tried to rationalize desperately. "I have no choice. And if I back away, it will mean the deaths of countless innocents . . . and of Jonny and Hadji, too. I can't lose my nerve."

She thought of the message she had sent to her father and wondered if he would be proud of her for the action she was planning. His voice echoed softly in her ears. _It's a dirty game, Ponchita. One I don't ever want you to be involved in._

"But I am involved in it, Daddy," she whispered softly. "What do I do now?"

_Trust your instincts._

"But what if they're wrong?"

_Then just do the best you can._


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty-four**

  


Jonny stumbled as a rough hand shoved him into the dank cell in the dungeons beneath the palace. The loud clang of the door as it swung shut sounded extremely final. He turned and watched through narrowed eyes as their escort moved away. Another man locked the cell door and grinned evilly at his captives.

Mahavir stepped forward boldly. "Where are you taking them?" he demanded, gesturing at the four women who huddled together fearfully in the corridor outside the cell. They were still surrounded by Janissary guards. Jonny tensed as one of them took the saber he carried and caressed the cheek of the woman he had talked with earlier. She shied back with a tiny whimper.

Their jailer laughed. "They go to an even better place than yours. I would worry more about coming up with the answers the master wants. His inquisitor is not a man you want to get to know well. He enjoys his work too much." With that, the man turned and walked away, gesturing for the guards to follow. The men shoved the terrified women after him. When one turned back toward the cell, obviously about to appeal to Mahavir, one of the guards struck her brutally, knocking her to the ground. The young woman cried out in pain. The guard laughed and grabbing her by one arm, he dragged her down the stone corridor and out of sight. They could all hear her sobs trail off into the distance.

Mahavir stood like a statue, gripping the bars of the cell until his entire fist turned white. No one dared to say a word to him. Finally, one young man said hesitantly, "Sir - Sir, what do we do? What do they want?"

With an effort, Mahavir released his death grip on the bars and turned to the others. There were eight of them, counting Jonny and Mahavir. The other six men were of varying ages and all were members of Vijay Patel's entourage. Jonny stepped up and began carefully examining the door to their cell as Mahavir replied, "They wish to know where my uncle is."

"But we do not know!"

"I have explained that to them. And when they ask again, we will tell them the same."

Jonny moved to the far end of the cell and examined the anchorage of the bars into the walls. Grabbing the bars, he pushed experimentally. Solid. He knelt and did the same to the bottom of the bars. It was the same. He rose and moved to the other side, testing the anchorage of the bars at the other end, as well. They were also solid.

"Who are you?"

Jonny rose from his crouch, glancing at Mahavir before he began a close inspection of the stone walls of the cell.

"A friend. How long has Vijay Patel been missing?"

"Since Thursday last. I have never seen you before. Are you new to the palace? What is your name?"

"I've been here before, but do not live here." Jonny knelt to peer closely at one of the stones about 18 inches off the ground. After a moment, he rose again and continued his perusal of the cell walls. "We must get out of here, preferably before we have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Birla's inquisitor."

"But none have ever escaped these dungeons!"

"There is always a first time. Or would you prefer to stay and enjoy the pleasures Mr. Birla has in store?"

"No!"

"Then we need to find a way out."

"Who _are_ you?" Mahavir insisted, following Jonny around the cell. By this time the two men had reached the far end of the cell, leaving the others standing huddled together on the opposite side. Jonny shot them a swift look and then lowered his voice carefully.

"I was sent to you by the Sultan." Jonny grimaced. "He sought information on your uncle's whereabouts, but . . ."

After the first startled look, Mahavir recovered and replied softly, "We truly do not know where he is. He disappeared the same day that the Subramanian family was murdered."

Jonny's head snapped up sharply, his shock evident. "Murdered! Kefira's family? What the hell . . ."

"You did not know of this?"

"No!" Jonny hissed harshly. "Tell me!"

Swiftly, Mahavir told him of the attack, ending with, "And when they were done, they set fire to the house . . . with the remaining family and all the household servants inside." The bitterness in his tone was clear.

"Geezus," Jonny breathed softly. "This'll kill Kefira. She adored her dad and so did Hadji."

"You are not from Bangalore!" That sharp statement caused Jonny to look up again, and only then did he realize that his last comment had been made in English. Mahavir stared hard at him for a long moment, and then breathed softly, "American. You are American . . . and from the Sultan." Then alarm flared. "He is here, is he not? The Sultan. In Bangalore. Now."

Jonny glanced over at the others warily and then lowered his voice even further. "Yes," he breathed, reverting to Hindi once more. "He is here . . . in the palace." He looked around the cell and anger and frustration suddenly exploded causing him to strike the wall with his fist. "We have to get out of here! I don't trust him not to try to come after me. If he does that and gets caught, it's all over!"

Mahavir was still staring at him. "You are his American brother. You must be. No one else would risk what you have by coming here."

Jonny winced slightly. "No, I'm not the only one who would risk coming here for him." He rubbed his forehead and muttered softly in English, "They're following us. I can feel it."

"Who?" Mahavir demanded. "Who is following you?"

Jonny sighed. "Kefira and Jessie."

"Kefira I know. She is the middle daughter of Rajeev Subramanian . . . the woman supposedly betrothed to the Sultan . . ."

"His wife."

"What?"

"Hadji's wife . . . Kefira is his wife."

"But that cannot be right. The betrothal was only just announced . . ."

"They were married before the betrothal was ever announced," Jonny said and thought to himself that it was probably true . . . by an hour or so.

"But . . . but . . . she was not approved by the Advisory Council or . . ."

"Don't say it!" Jonny warned the other man sharply. "Don't ever let Hadji hear you raise those issues. The entire process infuriates him and I won't swear to what he will do if someone suggests that Kefira isn't or can't be his wife."

Mahavir swallowed hard but finally nodded. "I understand. But who is the other person you mentioned? This 'Jessie'?"

"The daughter of the man who helped raise Hadji and me."

"Jessica Bannon?" Jonny nodded. "I have heard stories of her. Many said that she would one day be Sultana of Bangalore."

No matter how hard he tried, Jonny couldn't prevent the automatic tension that gripped him every time someone mentioned that. It didn't matter that Hadji and Jessie had had no part in the idea, or that Hadji now had a woman he loved deeply. The mere suggestion that the two of them might have been a couple caused his stomach to tie itself into knots.

"No," he snapped. The startled look on the other man's face told Jonny that the single word had come out a bit more harshly than he had intended. He took a deep breath and said a bit more civilly, "No, Hadji never considered that idea."

Mahavir looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment before he replied softly, "Because Jessica Bannon was yours."

Jonny shook his head. "No, Hadji had made that choice long before Jess and I ever became involved. I just don't think they ever thought of each other that way." Then a glimmer of humor touched his face. "And if you love life, _never_ let Jess hear you refer to her as though she were a piece of property!"

Mahavir nodded his understanding, but added insightfully, "But the idea still touches a nerve."

"Well, it would, now wouldn't it?" Jonny replied, the humor leaving his face once more. "This isn't getting us out of here. I'm open to any ideas you might have to offer."

"Unfortunately, I have none. I told you. No one has ever escaped from these dungeons."

"Well, then you better start giving it some serious thought, because one way or the other, we're getting out of here!"

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


It was the sound of footsteps in the echoing darkness that finally roused Hadji from his stunned immobility. Raising his head, he peered into the blackness trying the sense the direction the footsteps were coming from. No voice . . . just footsteps . . . two sets of them . . . coming from his left and approaching rapidly. Hadji rose hastily and, feeling his way carefully, he located a side passage that led to a viewing alcove overlooking one of the palace rooms. There he paused and waited in silence. He searched his pockets frantically, suddenly wondering what had become of his flashlight, but found no sign of it. Then he stilled as he became aware of a growing golden glow coming from around the corner where he now hid.

"Stop!" Abruptly the sound of the footsteps halted and after a moment, a man's voice said hoarsely, "The dust . . . it has been disturbed."

The man's companion voiced a soft, indistinguishable sound and then Hadji heard scuffling. The light cast weird, bouncing patterns on the walls across from him, as though the two people were swinging their lights around

"Look!" the man said, and suddenly a piercing, focused, blue-white shaft of light shot up the dark passageway toward the Patel offices. They had found his flashlight. "Someone else is in these passageways!"

There was absolute silence for a long moment, and then a soft, familiar voice called out gently, "Hadji? Are you there, my son?"

"Mother!" Hadji hurtled out into the corridor and came face-to-face with Neela and Vijay Patel. Hadji swept his mother into his arms and hugged her tightly. "Mother, are you well? I feared you had been lost . . ."

Neela clung to him tightly, murmuring his name over and over for a long moment. Finally, with a sniff, she pushed away from him and said, "No, my son, I am fine. But you . . . how did you get here? And why are you here? It is not safe for you in the palace!"

Before Hadji had the chance to reply, Vijay interrupted them in a low, urgent tone. "This is not the time or place, Excellenices. We are too close to the palace corridors and may be overheard."

"You are wise, Mr. Patel," Hadji agreed. "Come, this way . . ."

"Wait, Excellency!" Vijay said. "We were on our way to make contact with my nephew, Mahavir . . ."

"No, not now. Come, let us get to a safer place and we will talk." Reluctantly, Vijay and Neela followed him as Hadji set out at a swift pace. When he finally stopped, Vijay found he was completely turned around and had no idea where he was within the palace. Turning back to them, Hadji said, "Now, I must know what has been transpired in the last several days. We do not have much time."

Neela gestured wearily and, seeing no furniture in the room, she sank to the floor as though too tired to continue to stand. "Mr. Birla has taken the palace," she replied. "Oh, he has not declared it openly, but he has filled it with armed men loyal to him alone and people who have attempted to stand up to him have been 'disappearing' without a trace."

"What of the palace guard?"

Vijay shook his head. "Gone. Some were killed outright, we believe, but most of them were sent on 'errands' or assignments out of the palace and never reappeared."

"The Sipahi?"

"Driven from the city and scattered." Vijay hesitated. "The Janissary Guard has returned . . ."

"I have seen them," Hadji replied grimly. "And their handiwork. What of the rural populace?"

Neela, who had been looking up at her son, turned her head away abruptly as Vijay stared at the floor. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at his Sultan. "What have you heard?"

"Nothing," Hadji replied impatiently. "I have gotten no official word of any kind for almost six days . . . not since I left the United States. And much of that time has been spent either in transit or in hiding trying to _get_ information. So what is the situation now?"

Vijay shook his head. "I do not know the situation in the countryside either, but I do not believe that it can be good. I have been secreted in these passageways with the Lady Neela since last Friday trying to ensure that Mr. Birla does not capture her. So far, the only thing that has kept him in check is the fact that he has no one of the royal family in his custody. If either you or your mother were to fall into his hands . . ." Vijay shook his head. "But when I was out in the countryside last Thursday . . ." He trailed off, unable to look at Hadji any longer.

With a deep feeling of dread, Hadji placed his hand on the other man's shoulder and commanded, "Tell me, Mr. Patel. Something very bad has occurred. I have felt it ever since I arrived in Bangalore."

Vijay took and deep breath and then raised his head and looked Hadji straight in the eyes. "Six days ago, Excellency, Arun Birla and a troop of Janissary soldiers went to the home of Rajeev Subramanian. They murdered both he and his wife, and then set fire to the house with the rest of the family and staff in it. None escaped."

Neela rose hastily and came to stand beside her son. She laid a consoling hand on his arm, but he seemed totally unaware of her presence. He simply stood, staring back at Vijay Patel with a face totally devoid of expression. Finally, he said distantly, "Sumant Subramanian and his family?" Vijay shook his head wordlessly.

Shaking free of his mother's grasp, he turned on his heel and paced slowly away from them, struggling to comprehend what he had just been told. Rajeev . . . dead. And Anila . . . and Maia and Srinvasan . . . as well as Sumant and his family. All dead. All because they had supported him and because he loved Rajeev and Anila's daughter. And for what? Greed? Power? So that another self-styled dictator could get more power and property than he could possibly use in a lifetime? And all at the expense of thousands of poor people who had next to nothing to start with and who would end up with even less when Birla was finished.

Before his mind's eye, an image of Kefira rose as he had seen her last . . . her dark eyes grave, yet filled with love. He remembered her telling him that when a woman married, she bound herself to her husband for good or ill and that it was her choice to be his wife . . . made of her own free will. "And now, beloved?" He whispered in soft agony, leaning his forehead against the cool stone in front of him. "Will you be so certain of your choice now?"

"Hadji," a soft voice said behind him and once more he felt his mother's hand on his arm. "She is safe, my son, thousands of miles from here . . . where the dangers that surround us cannot touch her."

For a long time, Hadji didn't reply. When he finally did, the agony in his voice caused both of them to flinch. "No, Mother. There is nowhere that is safe any longer . . . for Kefira, for you, or for anyone else that I care about." The two watched as he slowly straightened and squared his shoulders. When he turned back to them once more, there was a new look of grim determination on his face. All indecision was gone. "I have tried to move slowly in the hope of making change as painless as possible. But because of the greed of a few old men and those who would follow them, that is no longer possible. My brother advised me that I should raise an army to take this palace and he was right. Only by stopping the man driving this lunacy will the killing stop."

"But . . . but, Excellency . . . " Vijay sputtered, not sure he recognized this young man any longer. "Where will you find an army? The people here are not loyal and you cannot trust them!"

"In the palace, I agree with you. But outside these walls there are thousands of people who will follow me. That is where we shall find the army that we need."

"The people of Bangalore City are not soldiers, Hadji," Neela cautioned him. "You cannot expect them to fight."

"Oh, but I do expect them to fight, Mother. Not only that, I anticipate finding them ready to do so, provided they have a leader to follow. And I shall give them one."

"Many will die . . ." Neela began urgently, but Hadji stopped her.

"Yes. Perhaps even I will. But I believe, Mother, that you will find that, given the choice, they will prefer to die free than live as slaves any longer."

Neela turned to appeal to Vijay Patel for help, but the words died in her throat as she saw his face. His eyes blazed with a look of fanatical devotion, telling her all she needed to know. This man would follow her son without reservation . . . into hell and back if that's what he asked . . . and she knew that the people outside of this palace would do so as well. Hadji had been right after all.

"To do this, we must get out of the palace," she said quietly to him. "So far, we have been unable to find a way to do this. All exits are closely guarded and there are far too many men to successfully get through them."

"We had been on our way to my office in the hope that my nephew, Mahavir, would be able to assist us," Vijay added.

Hadji shook his head. "That will not be possible. Mahavir and the rest of your staff have been taken by Birla's men. I watched them being led away."

Vijay absorbed this information in silence. Finally, he replied, "Then I do not know how . . ."

Hadji shook his head impatiently. "I will worry about getting out of the palace in due time. First, there is something else I must do. Tell me, Vijay, were any possessions of mine recently brought to the palace?"

"Yes," he replied promptly. "There were two bags . . . suitcases . . . brought by Janissary soldiers some days ago."

"What happened to them?" "They were taken to Mr. Birla's quarters and searched. I was hiding in the alcove that looks in on Mr. Birla's resting chamber as he went through them. At least one of them belonged to you, of that I am certain, because I recognized some of the clothing. But Mr. Birla appeared to seek something very specific and he was extremely displeased when he did not find it."

"The Heart of Bangalore," Neela breathed. "It would be a powerful symbol for him if he were to locate it. He anticipated that you would be carrying it with you."

"He will not find it," Hadji replied in a satisfied tone. "But what of the suitcases now? Where are they?"

"As far as I know, they are still in Mr. Birla's quarters."

"Good. Then let us go there quickly. There are items that I must retrieve." Without waiting to see if they followed, Hadji set off at a rapid pace, his flashlight illuminating the way in front of him. Vijay and Neela exchanged a startled look and then both ran to catch up with him. 

A short time later, Hadji peered through the spy hole into Birla's quarters. Everything appeared quiet. He spotted the two suitcases almost immediately. They sat on a divan against the far wall. The lids on both were closed, and Hadji could see that the latches had been forced. Catching his mother by the arm, he drew her up beside him and placed his lips close to her ear. "What type of entourage does he keep with him here in the palace? Will there be guards on his rooms? A wife?"

Neela shook her head sharply and drew his head down so she could whisper in his ear. "He maintains a house in the city, so his family does not stay in the palace. He has a secretary, two personal bodyguards, and a group of Janissary guards, but he has become nervous in recent days and he keeps all of these people with him, fearing an attack on his person. A guard may be posted on the door outside of the room, but his quarters should be empty if he is not here."

Hadji nodded. Gesturing Vijay forward, he drew both of them close. "Mother, you will stay here and keep watch through the spy hole on the next room. If he returns, you must warn us. Vijay, you will come with me."

"I have barred the entrances to his quarters," Vijay cautioned, following him up the corridor toward the access panel. "He suspects these passageways are here and has been searching for them."

Hadji nodded. "Excellent job. We will bar them again once we finish here."

"Are you going to take the suitcases?"

"No. I would prefer he does not know they have been accessed. What I want from them he has either already found, or will not miss once I take it. Everything appears quiet. Let us do this quickly."

Swiftly, Vijay removed the bar and Hadji tripped the switch, pulled open the access panel, and slipped inside with Vijay at his heels. The two men froze, listening carefully. No sound marred the silence. After a moment, Hadji gestured to Vijay and the two men crossed to the suitcases. Vijay watched as Hadji lifted the clothing out of one of them. Setting the pile aside, he used his right hand to probe the interior left hand corner of the bottom of the case with delicate fingers. At the same time, he used the thumb of his left hand to spin the small combination locks on the outside. The noise seemed loud in the silence of the room. Suddenly, Hadji gave a sharp tug on the inside of the suitcase and Vijay watched as the entire bottom of it popped out. His eyes widened in stunned amazement at the small arsenal. Swiftly, Hadji began taking the items out of the bottom. He handed Vijay several different types of knives, keeping one of them and fastening the sheath onto his belt. There were also some flat metal stars that appeared wickedly sharp that he slid carefully into a heavy leather pouch and slipped into his pocket. There were also three flat, black boxes of varying sizes. Hadji handed the two larger boxes to Vijay with a gesture that warned him to handle them carefully. The third box he slid into the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. That emptied the hidden compartment in the suitcase. Quickly, he popped the bottom back into place, spun the locks, replaced the clothing and closed the lid. Then he went through the same procedure with the second suitcase. Inside that one were two lethal-looking pistols with three ammunition clips each, several boxes of additional shells, two webbed nylon shoulder holsters, a larger square box that was obviously heavy, and a small square box covered in purple satin. All of these items were collected and the suitcase reassembled. Vijay was amazed at the calm, swift precision with which Hadji executed the entire process. Finally, he straightened and gestured back toward the access panel once more.

They were in the middle of the room when sounds could be heard from the main entrance to the suite. Neither man could make out the words, but the voice was undoubtedly that of Arun Birla, and he did not sound pleased. Hadji and Vijay had barely made it back into the passageway and shut the access panel when Birla erupted into the room. His fierce scowl was a testament to his mood, as he stomped across the room and began pulling open drawers and throwing things around as though searching for something.

"What do I care what the United Nations thinks?" he demanded harshly in a loud voice. Behind him, a spare hesitant little man appeared in the doorway.

"But Excellency, a resolution from the Security Council would authorize U.N. troops into the country on a peacekeeping mission. You must be aware that first-in troops in a U.N. peacekeeping force are almost always American, and the Unites States government is pushing very hard for passage of the resolution."

"Why?!"

"We believe it is because we have not been forthcoming in providing them with information on the location of the Sultan. One of their senior military officers, an Admiral Bennett, was quoted as saying that because we appear to be unwilling to say where the Sultan is, the United States government should make it their business to find out. And _now_, they are demanding to know the whereabouts of Ms. Subramanian, as well." 

"What right do they have to demand to know the whereabouts of a citizen of Bangalore?" Birla snarled, slamming another drawer.

"They claim," the little man said carefully, "that Kefira Subramanian is actually Mrs. Hadji Singh, legal wife of the Sultan, and therefore, an American citizen by marriage."

_**"WHAT?!!"**_ Birla whirled on the little man in fury.

"Further, the Indian Ambassador to the United States is said to have examined the marriage documents and pronounced them legitimate. Now, the Indian government is supporting the United States' demands for information on the whereabouts of both the Sultan and Sultana of Bangalore."

"She is not Sultana of this country until she is proclaimed so by the Council," Birla snapped.

"Perhaps not. But that point makes little difference. If the marriage is legal by American law, then she is a U.S. citizen and the government of that country has the right to demand knowledge of her whereabouts . . . and they are doing so . . . very loudly and very publicly."

"What is the chance the marriage is a ruse?"

"None, Excellency," the man replied flatly. "The U.S. government has officially confirmed Kefira Singh's citizenship status. Its processing was obviously expedited, probably in an effort to put her under the umbrella of U.S. protection." The man paused. "According to the records Ambassador Tilak viewed, the date of the marriage was the same as the date of the attack on the Sultan and his wife in New York." The man paused once more, clearing his throat, and then continued on doggedly in the face of Birla's ferocious glare. "It would appear that the attack and attempted kidnapping of Ms. Subramanian in New York, followed by the announcement of their betrothal, caused the Sultan to take drastic action in response."

Birla snarled in sheer animal rage, grabbed a drawer out of the nearby dresser, and flung it violently against the wall on the opposite side of the room, while uttering an extremely rude phrase in Hindi about Hadji's parentage. He breathed heavily for a moment and then snapped, "It is not here, and there is no time to search for it any longer."

"But Excellency . . ."

"The United States government wishes us to produce the Sultan and his wife. I believe it is time we ascertain their whereabouts. I am going to my office. Find the Captain of the Janissaries and the Chief Inquisitor and send them to me. We will then go down to the dungeons and get some answers to that question, one way or the other." And with that, Birla shoved past the man and was gone.

For a moment, Hadji remained immobile, considering the overheard conversation. So his marriage to Kefira was officially out in the open. That information could only have come from one source . . . Kefira and Jessie. In addition, the Indian government, who normally made it a point not to get involved with the internal disputes of its neighbors, were putting themselves square in the middle . . . and they were not siding with the country on their own border. He could sense an outside hand at work and wondered briefly who had the leverage to bend the Indian government to their will in this manner. Certainly, it could not be his father. Benton Quest was powerful, but Hadji doubted he was in a position to be able to apply that type of influence. Furthermore, that sort of heavy-handedness was unlike his father. So who was interfering on their behalf? He shook his head. There was no time to consider that question now. Birla would be on his way to the dungeons very shortly and Hadji _knew_ whom the man planned to get his answers from. Spinning, he came face-to-face with his mother and Vijay Patel. Even in the dimness of the passageway, he could see their identical expressions of stunned disbelief.

"You _married_ her?" his mother demanded. "While the two of you were out of the country? And without the Council's blessing?"

"Has the union been consummated?" Vijay demanded bluntly. "Perhaps we can still salvage . . ."

"Yes, I married her," Hadji snapped, shaken out of his momentary immobility. "And whether it has been consummated or not is none of your affair. That is between Kefira and myself. There is no time for this. We must . . ."

"The Council will never accept her now!" Neela shrilled. "You have destroyed any chance of that with this action. If you wanted her for your wife so much . . ."

The sudden rage that flared in the young Sultan's face silenced both of them. "Understand this clearly," he said harshly. "What the Council will or will not accept does not concern me. Kefira is my wife . . . my only wife. I will never take another. I will hear no more discussion of the matter. Now, unless you wish for Mr. Patel's entire staff to die at the hands of Mr. Birla's inquisitor, I suggest that you follow me." With that, he shoved past them and left at a run, the light of his flashlight bobbing with each footfall. Neela and Vijay exchanged alarmed looks.

"Where is he . . ." Vijay began, but Neela cut him off, sounding half-panicked.

"No! He cannot go to the dungeons! They will capture him for certain!" The two of them chased Hadji frantically, but were unable to catch up with him until he had reached the lowest level of the palace. Both of them were gasping desperately when they finally stumbled to a halt next to him as he peered through one of the view panels. Vijay noted with envy that the young man wasn't even breathing hard.

"Excellency," Vijay hissed, struggling for breath, "you cannot . . . do this. You . . . cannot . . . be taken."

"I cannot leave them there."

"They will understand, Excellency," Vijay whispered urgently. "They support you . . ."

"The dead have no capacity for understanding, Mr. Patel," Hadji answered shortly. "Furthermore, there is a man with your people that I _must_ free. I cannot leave him here . . . not and ever be able to live with myself. You are to remain here. If something goes wrong, you are to get my mother out of the palace, find my wife, and do what you must to see that what I have set in motion for Bangalore is completed." 

With that, Hadji shoved Vijay back, triggered the secret door, and burst out of the passageway directly into the rest area for the guards assigned to the dungeon. There were three men in the room . . . two at a table in the middle of the floor and one at a counter about five feet beyond the first two. Hadji struck swiftly and silently. The two men at the table were dispatched before they even realized what was going on . . . one with a vicious kick to the jaw and the other with a stunning uppercut to the side of the head. The sound of the blows caused the third man to whirl, but he had time for little more than a breathless exclamation of surprise before a karate kick to the solar plexus knocked the wind out of him. The follow up blow to the temple left him senseless on the floor with the other two. Then, the sudden sound of a scuffle caused Hadji to spin and he saw that he had miscalculated on one point. There hadn't been three men in the room . . . there had been four. The last man had been asleep on a bunk against the wall near the doorway to the secret passage and Hadji hadn't been able to see him. As swift and quiet as the fight had been, it had still woken the last man.

The guard had obviously intended to dispatch Hadji with the long, wicked-looking knife he held in one hand, but he never got the chance to use it. Vijay Patel had moved first. Now, the two men were locked in a silent, deadly struggle. Vijay had jumped the man from behind and clamped one hand tightly over the man's mouth, while the other grasped the wrist that held the knife. The guard's free hand was buried in Vijay's hair and he was yanking at it, trying to loosen Vijay's grip. At the same time, the guard was writhing and kicking in a desperate attempt to free himself. Hadji took a step toward them, but before he could reach the two men, it was over. With an almost superhuman effort, Vijay tightened his grip on the man's jaw and yanked viciously to his right. The sharp snapping of the man's neck was clear in the eerie silence of the room. The guard immediately went limp and Vijay released him, allowing him to fall to the floor. Beyond him, framed in the open passageway door, Neela stood transfixed, one hand over her mouth as though trying to stifle a scream. Vijay reached down and grabbed the knife the man had held just moments before. Straightening once more, he hissed fiercely, "If you insist on this madness, then you do not go alone!" Pushing past Hadji, Vijay strode to the far side of the room and eased the door to the dungeon corridor open. After scanning the outside quickly he slipped through and disappeared. Hadji hesitated for only a second. Gesturing sharply to his mother to retreat back into the safety of the passageway and close the access panel, he followed Vijay Patel into the dungeon.

Hadji caught up with the man as he peered cautiously around the corner into a large, open chamber. The guardroom was in one of the side corridors that opened into the main dungeon chamber. Similar corridors radiated out from here like spokes on a wagon wheel. At the very center of the room was the large open pit that Vikram Singh had kept filled with poisonous snakes . . . the one he and his mother had almost died in years before. Hadji couldn't still the involuntary shudder that passed through him at the sight of that pit. He also knew that the second entrance to his right was the door that led to the stairs that rose into the palace. However, that still left eight other corridors that could house the prisoners. They didn't have the time to search them all. Catching Vijay by the shoulder, he drew him back away from the large chamber once more. Placing his lips next to the other man's ear, he breathed softly,

"Do you know which of the corridors house prisoners?"

Vijay smiled grimly. "All of them," he replied in the same tone. "Mr. Birla has his enemies and he is taking no chances. We are going to have to ask for our friends." The sudden sound of footsteps on the stone floor echoed hollowly. Chancing a swift look, they saw that two guards must have been in one of the side corridors and had now returned to the central area. Both stood near the circular pit talking idly. Placing a hand on Vijay's arm, Hadji motioned him to wait and then ran on silent cat feet back to the guardroom. Snatching up a handful of cheap silverware from the counter, he returned to his companion. He gestured to Vijay and then threw the items toward the pit. The cheap metal struck the stone with a gratifying amount of noise and then skittered across the floor and slid off into the pit. The two men whipped around, searching the semi-gloom for the cause of the disturbance. Then, drawing long, deadly knives from belt sheaths, they both began to circle the pit cautiously, moving toward the source of the sudden noise. Vijay stepped back and tested a closed door about two feet down the corridor from where they stood. It opened silently to reveal a storage room. Grabbing Hadji's arm, they both retreated into the gloom and eased the door closed, waiting tensely for the guards to come into sight. Nerves stretched thinner and thinner as the minutes seemed to drag into eternity. And the entire time, a tiny voice in Hadji's mind continued to scream, _There is no time!_

"Pahaninath? Bhim?" The guttural voice was thick and carried a strange lilt. It had also been very close at hand. The two stood like stones, hardly even daring to breath. Hadji closed his eyes and used every ounce of concentration and strength he possessed to will them away from the corridor and back out into the main chamber. Then, the soft pad of footsteps receded slightly. Hadji opened his eyes and eased the door open fractionally. He could just see the backs of the two men who now stood peering down into the pit about eight feet away from the entry to their corridor. Hadji didn't even hesitate. He jerked open the door and sprang forward, launching himself at the two men as he drew the knife that Jean-Paul had provided. Vijay was at his side almost immediately.

Perhaps it was the whisper of the knife leaving the sheath that alerted them . . . or some innate sixth sense. Whatever it was, the two guards spun to face them just as Hadji and Vijay cleared the corridor. Vijay immediately dove to his right, drawing one of their attackers away, as Hadji turned with his knife, poised to meet the other man. He was an extremely tall, broad-chested, man with a thick head of heavy, black hair without a trace of gray, dark brown skin, and a large, handlebar mustache. Shock struck Hadji like a blow as he recognized the man that faced him. This man was not Bangalorian. He wasn't even Indian. His name was Adham Asad . . . the Black Lion. He was Middle Eastern by birth, a mercenary since he was little more than six years old, and one of the most ruthless and merciless of the Janissaries. He had been the keeper of the dungeons of Bangalore for close to ten years under the rein of both Deepak and Vikram Singh. He had also been his mother's jailer during her years of imprisonment in this hellhole. And without needing to be told, Hadji knew that he was also Arun Birla's chief inquisitor.

Icy fury filled Hadji's gut and his vision seemed to sharpen into preternatural clarity as he dropped into a fighter's stance and circled, watching the other man intently. And still he heard that voice . . .

. . . _time_ . . . _time_ . . . _time_ . . .

He saw Asad's eyes narrow slightly as he fought to place Hadji's face. Hadji's lips drew back in a grin that was more of a snarl than a smile.

"So, evil one, we meet again. When you ran away like a coward the last time, I thought you gone for good." Hadji saw the man's eyes widen as recognition finally dawned.

. . . _time_ . . . _time_ . . . _time_ . . .

"So the little prince has come crawling back in the darkness like a frightened mouse," the man answered with a feral grin. The muscles in his arms and legs rippled as the man dropped into a fighting crouch and moved fluidly, sizing up his opponent.

. . . _time_ . . . _time_ . . . _time_ . . .

Race's voice echoed in Hadji's ears. _Never watch the knife. It can lie. Watch your adversary's chest. Movement there will warn you of what your attacker plans to do . . ._ The years of hand-to-hand combat training that Race required of all of them paid off, as the sudden flex of those muscles warned Hadji a split second before Asad lunged at him with a vicious underhanded thrust toward his belly. Hadji parried the blow cleanly, and slashed out at the man with a flicking motion that drew blood across the top of Asad's forearm as he danced out of his reach again. Asad had both reach and weight on his side, but Hadji was quicker. The lethal dance continued as each man feinted, thrust and parried, testing his adversary's reflexes, stamina, and skill. Hadji drew blood on his opponent several more times, but all were minor injuries. He was unable to get through Asad's guard deeply enough to do real damage.

And through it all, the voice in his head continued to chant . . . 

_

. . . time . . . time . . . time . . . you're running out of time . . .

_

Hadji feinted to his right, watching his opponent's reactions. Sweat glistened on the other man's face and arms now, and he struggled to catch his breath.

"Age tells, Black One," Hadji taunted, dancing out of reach yet again. "You are old . . . an anachronism . . . just like your way of life . . . dying a slow death of shame and uselessness . . ."

. . . _time_ . . . _time_ . . . _time_ . . .

With a sudden roar, Hadji's opponent launched himself forward, the knife blade glittering evilly in Asad's left hand. Hadji spun to one side, catching the blade on his own and deflecting the downward stroke away from his right shoulder. An instant later, he knew he had miscalculated as he saw the flash of the second knife coming in low on his left side. Awkwardly, he threw himself backward, trying desperately to evade the lethal blade. He felt the sharp tug on his clothing and then he was clear, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet as his opponent looked from the knife to Hadji and back again in disbelief. The blade was clean. For a second, Hadji thought he had evaded the deadly blow, but then nausea and pain struck simultaneously and he could feel something warm and wet spreading across his side. Distantly, he heard the taunting voice again and was vaguely surprised to recognize it as his own.

"Old, Black One . . . old and slow. You are finished. Your time has passed."

The man came at Hadji again and somehow he spun clear once more. But his adversary was tiring quickly and this time, the man's guard came up too slowly. Finding hidden reserves of strength, Hadji pivoted back in again, praying that his injured body wouldn't betray him. His knife flashed downward, slashing through flesh and grating on bone. One of the knives fell from nerveless fingers, as the huge man roared in pain and tried to stagger back away from his attacker. Hadji came at him again, knocking Asad's good arm out of the way and lunging in to bury his knife all the way to the hilt in the man's chest right under his breastbone. Asad's eyes bulged and he gasped as his knees began to buckle. He sank slowly to the stone floor, gasped one last time and then was still.

Hadji staggered back a few steps, trying to drag air into his oxygen-starved system. Every breath felt like a knife was being twisted deeper and deeper beneath his ribs. He clamped his arm tightly to his side, grateful now for Jonny's insistence that their clothing be black. In this light, it would hide the blood that he could feel spreading and seeping down onto his hip. He looked up to see both Vijay Patel and the man he had been fighting staring at him dumbly. Vijay held the man in a choke hold with one arm twisted behind him, but Hadji wasn't too sure how tight his grip was. Bending down carefully, Hadji grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled it free from the dead man. Then, with one foot, he rolled the body over. For an instant it balanced precariously on the edge of the pit, then slid over and disappeared into the blackness. As he turned back toward Vijay and his captive, they all heard the body hit bottom with a sickening thud. Hadji walked up to the other man with an even stride. The flickering light in the huge room glinted off of the bloody knife as he held it up between the two of them. The man stared at it, mesmerized.

"Where are Mr. Patel's people?" he asked in a soft, deadly tone.

The man seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the knife as he made a small gesture, indicating one of the side corridors. "There." He swallowed with difficulty and added, "Excellency."

"The key . . . where is it?" The man shook his head and then made a tiny, incoherent sound of fear as the knife glittered in the light again. "Where . . . is . . . the key?"

"I do not have it, Excellency," the man said frantically. "I swear to you. There were only two. Arun Birla keeps one, and that one had the other." He made a vague gesture toward the pit.

After a moment, Hadji gestured to Vijay to release the man. "Show me where they are," Hadji commanded and gestured to him with the knife. Vijay let the man go and he skittered off toward the indicated passageway. 

"This way. I will show you. Just . . . please, Excellency . . . do not kill me. I am nothing . . . a poor man. I just follow orders. I do not . . ."

"Shut up," Hadji snapped. "Just show me where they are!"

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Jonny and Mahavir were in the process of searching their cell for a second time when a sharp, metallic sound reached them. It was followed quickly by angry calls and the clash of metal on metal. Jonny uttered an oath and strode to the bars, trying to get a glimpse of what was going on. Behind him, Mahavir placed a placating hand on Jonny shoulder.

"The guards often duel to pass the time," he said softly.

A snarl of sheer animal fury reached them, followed by the sounds of fighting once again. "That's not the sound of idle recreation," he replied and gripped the bars of his cell door in frustration. With a frantic need to do _something_, Jonny bent to examine the lock on the cell door again as he ran his hands over his pockets in a vain search for _anything_ that he could use to try to pick the lock on the cell door. But he and Hadji had been too thorough in assuring that there was nothing on him that might mark his identity if he was stopped. He had nothing he could even try to use.

"It has stopped," Mahavir warned softly. Jonny rose and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the other man, peering up the corridor warily. Then they heard approaching footsteps. Both instinctively fell back from the door, gesturing the others with them to move to the back of the cell. Suddenly, one of their jailers appeared and Jonny and Mahavir were stunned at the sight of him. He was not a small man, but now he was practically sniveling. Several large bruises marred his face, and he rubbed one arm compulsively as if it pained him.

"Here . . . they are here," he babbled. "I said I would lead you to them. Please . . ." And then Hadji was at the door of the cell.

"Hadji!" Jonny exclaimed. The young man was across the cell in a flash. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "I told you not to do this!"

"You did not honestly believe I would leave you here?" Hadji reached out and grabbed the guard by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the bars of the cell. "Where is the key?" he demanded again.

"I swear to you, Excellency, I do not have it! Only Mr. Birla and the Black One. I swear!" The man was practically sobbing in fear.

Hadji shoved him away sharply. "We have no time. Birla is on his way . . ."

"Then get out of here! Don't worry about me. I'll get out." 

"No!" Hadji replied sharply. "Both go or neither do. I will not be forced into having to explain to Father why I left you to die." Reaching behind him, Hadji produced one of the boxes they had retrieved from the suitcases in Mr. Birla's quarters. "Here . . . quickly!"

Jonny grabbed the box and flipped the lid open. With a soft exclamation of satisfaction he shoved it into Mahavir's hands. "Hold this." Reaching in, he drew out a long, thin filament of coated wire with flexible handgrips on either end. Mahavir saw that there were five more in the box just like it. He flattened the handgrip and slid it through the gap between the fixed bars of the cell and the door, passing the handle to his brother. "There were three women," Jonny said urgently, as they worked. "They separated us. I don't know what happened to them. Stand back," Jonny directed the others in the cell sharply.

Hadji gestured at Vijay with his head and said, "Keep watch. Warn us if you hear someone coming." Then looking at his brother, he asked, "Ready?"

"Yes. Now!" The two snapped the wire taut and a sudden sharp hiss broke the tense silence, filling the air with an acrid odor. Hadji carefully passed his end of the wire back to his brother, who wrapped it around the locking tongue of the cell and pulled it taut. The hiss intensified sharply as the acid began eating into the metal. 

Meanwhile, Hadji reached out and once more grabbed the shirt of the guard who had been trying to inch away from the young Sultan "Where were the women taken?" he demanded of the man.

"They . . . they are . . . gone, Excellency," the man quavered. He blanched as Hadji's grip tightened.

"Gone _where_?"

"Mr. . . . Mr. Birla sent them . . . away, Excellency."

"'Away' does not answer my question. Time grows short, as does my patience . . ."

"The harem!" the man all but shrieked. "He sent them to be added to his harem!"

Jonny looked from his brother to the incoherent guard in surprise. Hadji had always been the most agreeable of rulers to all of his subjects. Not only that, but the man he was now facing topped the young Sultan by a good two inches and appeared strong and muscular, and yet the man was practically witless with fear.

"A harem? Here? In the Royal Palace?" Hadji's fury was so plain that even the men in the cell with Jonny stepped back a pace.

"No, Excellency! Not here!" the man exclaimed, his words all but tumbling over themselves as he rushed to explain. "Mr. Birla was not so confident of your defeat that he would defy you so openly . . . particularly in front of your Lady Mother. He keeps them at his house in the city. He . . . it is said that he has long coveted Mr. Patel's young niece . . . the one that works in his palace office. When Mr. Patel's people were brought here, Mr. Birla decided he would have all three of them for himself. But because you were still free, he did not wish to risk keeping them in the palace. He sent two of the dungeon guards to take them to his house immediately after he secured the others here." With a snarl of disgust, Hadji shoved the man away from him violently. The guard stumbled and fell to his knees a short distance away.

"Hurry," Hadji urged his brother urgently.

Something about the way he leaned against the bars caused a thrill of alarm to run through Jonny. His urgency was so clear . . . Jonny loosened the wire and peered at the lock in the dim light. "Close enough, I think. Clear the door." Hadji stepped back toward Vijay Patel as Jonny stood, composing himself. Then he lashed out with one foot, striking the locking plate with jarring force. The sound echoed loudly in the silence as the cell door shuddered with the force of the blow, but it held. Jonny repeated the action and felt something give slightly. The third time, the metal tongue snapped and the cell door swung open violently to slam into the bars with an ear-splitting clang.

As Jonny and the others emptied out into the corridor, the guard clawed at Hadji's right leg from his position on the floor.

"Excellency . . . Excellency, please . . . take me with you. Do not make me stay here. He will kill me . . . even if you imprison me and make it clear that you defeated me, he will blame me for this. I do not wish to die, Excellency! Please, I have a wife . . . a child . . . "

"Don't grovel! You are not an animal," Hadji snapped at him. "Get out of my way!" He pushed the man aside and strode up the corridor and joined Vijay at the entrance to the central chamber. Jonny and the others followed closely. Hadji gestured at the waiting man. "Lead the way, Mr. Patel . . . back the way we came . . . quickly! We have taken too long at this and I cannot say how much longer our luck will hold!" Vijay immediately led his people out into the open chamber, making for the corridor to the guard room. Jonny and Hadji followed closely behind. As they crossed the large room, Hadji kept looking back over his shoulder. After the third time, Jonny turned to see the guard stumbling after them.

"You want me to get rid of him?" Jonny asked softly.

Hadji shook his head reluctantly. "No. He is right. Birla will kill him if we leave him here."

"He's liable to be trouble."

"There is no help for that. We will just have to watch him."

The light was slightly better here and Jonny looked at Hadji closely. "Is there something wrong? You don't look right."

Hadji smiled rather grimly. "It has been a trying day . . ."

Suddenly, from off to their left, a loud, metallic clang echoed through the room. The noise was followed immediately by the sound of arguing voices.

"Birla!" Hadji hissed. He waved frantically at Vijay to move quickly as the last of Patel's office staff disappeared into the side corridor. Then he turned and grabbed the guard by the shirt once more, pushing him toward the corridor with a warning glare. No words were necessary for the man to understand that he was not to make a sound. Shoving the man in front of them, Jonny and Hadji entered the guardroom just as a heavy clang behind them heralded the opening of the door into the main dungeon chamber.

"Mother!" Hadji called urgently in a low voice at the back wall, as the others stood, staring from the unconscious guards to him in mystification. Almost immediately, the secret doorway into the passageways opened and Neela appeared. Hadji gestured to his companions. "In . . . quickly. Mother, lead them. We will head for the old sections of the palace. Birla is here and it will not take them long to come here in search of the guards!" As Jonny herded the people into the passageway, he saw Hadji staring at the floor around his feet intently. Then, a split second before the last man entered the secret passageway, Hadji strode to the counter and grabbed a handful of grubby-looking towels. Bending awkwardly, he swiped at the floor where he had been standing. Jonny stood poised in the entrance to the passageways, certain now that something was wrong. Hadji's movements were sluggish . . . slower than they should have been, and in the brighter light of this room, there was a sickly cast to his face. There was also something about the way he kept his left arm clamped tightly to his side that cause that thrill of alarm to course through him again. Hadji crossed the room and Jonny pulled him into the passage just as the sound of booted feet approached the outer door. The door to the passageway snapped shut silently just as the corridor door to the guardroom burst open. Jonny would have turned to leave immediately but Hadji's hand on his arm stopped him. Taking Jonny's hand silently, he placed it on a large wooden beam about four inches thick that was propped against the wall near the hidden door. Then he guided his hand to the wall where Jonny found sturdy brackets. He understood what Hadji wanted immediately. Grasping the wooden beam, he silently fitted it into the mounting brackets, barring the door into the passageway. Then the two turned and stumbled after the others in the dark.

Neither of them had a flashlight . . . Neela had one, Mr. Patel had another, and the one Hadji had carried was lost somewhere in the dark. So they had to rely on Hadji's memories of these corridors to find their way. Other than for the occasional dim outlines of light around hidden view panels, nothing marred the blackness. They moved by running the tips of their fingers along the walls, praying that nothing lay on the floor in front of them that would cause them to stumble or fall.

With the lack of sight, all of Jonny's other senses became heightened . . . hearing in particular . . . and what he heard he didn't like. Hadji's breathing was shallow and labored and his steps sounded uneven, as though he was finding it more and more difficult to keep moving. Finally, Jonny could stand it no longer. Keeping his voice as low as he could, he said, "You're hurt! What's happened?"

"I am fine. Just keep going!" Hadji hissed.

"Like hell! What is it?" Jonny replied in a sharp whisper. He reached out and grabbed Hadji's left arm, intending to pull him to a stop, and was totally unprepared for the ragged gasp of pain or the warm wetness that washed over his hand causing him to lose his grip on his brother's arm. "Geezus! Is that blood???"

"Yes," Hadji replied through clenched teeth after a moment. "But we cannot not stop. We have no light here to attend to it and if we stop, I may not be able to continue. We must reach our destination or we will all be lost. Now MOVE!" Hadji stumbled on in the darkness and after a moment, Jonny caught up with him again. Grabbing him tightly around the waist with his right arm, Jonny pressed Hadji's left arm tightly against his side, supporting him.

"Sword?" he asked bluntly.

"No," Hadji replied on a gasp. "Knife."

"You got into a goddamned knife fight? With one of the guards? What the hell were you thinking?" Jonny hissed angrily.

"I had very little choice in the matter. He came at me with one."

"Why didn't you just shoot him? You had the guns. I can feel one of them!"

"And bring Birla and half of the Janissary guard in the palace down on our heads before I could get you out of that place? That would have been a very effective rescue," Hadji replied in a stronger tone that Jonny was certain was fueled by anger.

"I told you not to try something this stupid. I would have gotten out!"

"No, you would not. Birla was on his way and it was his intention to torture all of Mr. Patel's staff until he found out my location."

"They didn't know anything!"

"No, but a close examination of you would have revealed your identity. Once he knew who you were . . ." Jonny could feel Hadji shudder. "I have seen the end results of Adham Asad's work before. I could not leave you there. Any more than you would have left me if our positions were reversed."

Jonny sighed in exasperation. "It's not the same. Dammit, Hadji, you're the only thing that's holding this country together. You can't afford to put yourself at risk like this."

"Just another . . . example . . . of why I am . . . not cut out to be . . . a Sultan," he gasped with difficulty, his strength starting to fade again. "Those I love . . . will always come . . . first."

Suddenly, Jonny realized that he could see light up ahead of them. It grew brighter rapidly and a moment later, the flashlight flicked up to reveal . . .

"Mahavir!" Jonny exclaimed in a low voice. "Where are the others?"

"Up ahead," he replied in a normal, if slightly subdued, tone. "We are deep in the abandoned section of the palace now and the Lady Neela says we should be safe here." His voice deepened in concern as he realized that Jonny was now supporting Hadji. "What has happened? That idiot guard keeps babbling something about the Black Lion and knife battles and the superhuman power of the Sultan. He is making no sense. The Sultan would not fight knife battles . . ."

"Oh yeah? You tell him not to do it. He won't listen to me."

Mahavir moved to Hadji's other side in alarm. "Excellency!"

"Do not . . . start," Hadji gasped, cutting him off. "I have . . . heard enough of it . . . from my . . . brother . . . already."

A few moments later, the three of them came out of the passages into a relatively large chamber. Oil lamps around the room gave it a warm, golden glow even as they highlighted the accumulated dust and decaying furnishings. On the far side of the room, the guard was still babbling about the knife fight to anyone that would listen, while Neela and Vijay stood off to one side speaking urgently to one another. Neela looked up as they entered and then started toward them in alarm.

"What . . ."

"Water," Jonny demanded urgently as he eased Hadji down onto the floor. "And I need light. Bring me one of those lamps." Mahavir jumped to grab one of the oil lanterns as Neela instructed two of Mr. Patel's staff to bring the bowl and jug that sat on a shelf on the far side of the room. Then she came and knelt beside her son.

"What has happened?" she demanded.

Jonny pulled the knife from the sheath at Hadji's belt intending to use it to cut away his shirt, but the sight of the blade stopped him. The blood was already beginning to dry and the blade was coated in a dull brown film.

"Not that one," Vijay said harshly. "Give it to me. Use this one." He passed Jonny a clean blade.

"What has happened?" Neela repeated again.

"He got into a knife fight," Jonny replied grimly as he sliced the fabric and exposed the wound. He sounded a little sick as he added, "Looks like the guy almost made two of him, in fact. Geezus, Hadji! It's damned near six inches long and you're still bleeding like a stuck pig."

"You should see my opponent," Hadji said faintly. "Race would be proud of me."

"Race would kick your butt from here to Colombia and back, and then he'd have both of us doing hand-to-hand combat drills for months! Don't you remember . . . the idea is to avoid getting sliced up by your opponent's blade!" He glanced up at Neela. "We're going to need bandages . . . sutures . . . and most of all, disinfectant and antibiotics. We don't dare let this become infected. And judging by the way he's bleeding, some AB+ whole blood wouldn't hurt anything, either."

"We can take him to the infirmary here in the palace . . ." she replied hesitantly.

"No!" Hadji's head jerked up at that. "We must leave here immediately, while we still have darkness to cover our escape. We can use the towels that I took from the guardroom . . ."

"No!" Jonny snapped back, echoing Hadji's tone. "They're filthy. We need something clean." Jonny looked up at Vijay and Mahavir. "I entered the palace through a laundry storage area not too far from your offices. If we can gets some clean towels and sheets . . ."

"I know the place," Vijay replied immediately, but Neela cut him off.

"There is one closer. I will show you." She touched her son's face lightly. "Hold on, my son. We will not be long."

"Take . . . care . . . Mother. Mr. Birla . . . will . . . be warned . . . now . . ."

"And furious," Jonny added.

Neela smiled. "No one alive knows this palace the way I do. He will not take us. Come." With that, Neela and Vijay rose and left quickly. Mahavir took the towels that Hadji had taken from the guardroom, rolled them up and slid them carefully under his head, while Jonny stripped off his shirt and used the knife to slice a large section of fabric out of it that he could use to try to clean the wound. The water in the bowl rapidly turned red as Jonny wiped away old blood so he could see more clearly. After a first involuntary move of pain, Hadji lay still, not making a sound. Finally, Jonny let out a sigh and said, "It's not quite as bad as I thought. It's long, but not real deep, and the knife doesn't appear to have gotten any vital organs. It needs to be disinfected and stitched up, but if we can keep you from bleeding to death, I think you'll live."

"That is good to know," Hadji said faintly. After a moment, he added, "Am I seeing things or do you have spots?"

Jonny looked down at his chest and arms and then grimaced. "The skin dye begins to bleed off when it gets wet." Hadji made a soft sound that might have been laughter. "Hey, you can laugh. The stuff itches!"

"Well, once we get out of here, you can get rid of it. The time for hiding is done."

"What are you thinking?"

"I am going to take your suggestion, my friend. We are going to raise an army and put an end to this . . . once and for all." He stirred, as though intending to sit up, but a hand on his shoulder stilled him once more.

"Lie still. The bleeding is almost stopped. If we can find a way to bind it up so that it stays closed, we may get you out of this." The sudden sound of returning footsteps caused him to look up just as Neela and Vijay returned. Both had their hands full. Neela knelt beside Hadji once more and began handing things to Jonny . . . sutures, scissors, antiseptic wound tape, large bandage pads, wide gauze, adhesive tape, sulfa powder, two medicine bottles, two hypodermic syringes, and an assortment of other items. One of the medicine bottles contained penicillin and the other morphine. Jonny looked up at her in amazement. "Where did you get this stuff?"

She smiled. "As I said, I know this palace like no other and have access to every part of it. The infirmary here is extensive as is the medical supply storage area. These things will not be missed until a supply inventory is done and I doubt that Mr. Birla will order one of those anytime soon. Do you have the knowledge to deal with this?"

"Yes. Enough to get by." He quickly broke the seal on the bottle of morphine, snapped the needle onto the syringe and inserted it into the bottle.

"What is that?" Hadji demanded warily, his voice still too faint.

"Something that will make this process easier. Hold still." Grabbing Hadji's arm, he felt the inside of his elbow for a minute and then inserted the needle swiftly. A slight seepage of blood at the entry point told him he hit the vein. He injected the drug and then withdrew the needle quickly. Grabbing a small piece of gauze, he pressed it to the puncture wound and said to Neela. "Hold this there. He doesn't need to lose any more blood." Quickly, he looked through the supplies until he found a large bottle marked 'Normal Saline'. Dumping a little into a small medicine cup, he rinsed the syringe. Then he carefully wiped the needle with alcohol and covered it with a hard plastic cap. Looking up, he saw Vijay hovering nearby anxiously. Holding the syringe out to him, he said, "Take this . . . carefully. We don't have these to spare and we'll need it again later. I'm assuming that if you got the knives, guns, and the acid wire, that you also got our luggage."

"Only the weapons. We left everything else."

"Damn. All right. There were a number of boxes with the weapons, including boxes of shells, right?"

"Yes."

"Empty one of the shell boxes, wrap that in gauze and put it in that. As long as we can keep it relatively clean we should be able to use it again." Then he pulled the second syringe and filled it from the penicillin bottle. After injecting the medication into Hadji's upper arm, he handed the syringe, the alcohol and the cup of saline to Vijay, saying, "Do the same thing I did with this. Be careful. Don't stick yourself with the needle. We don't want to have to cope with a staph infection. And be sure you mark which syringe is which. We'll want to use them for the same medication each time."

"What did you give me?" Hadji asked. His words were slightly slurred. "I feel strange."

Jonny reached down and turned his head slightly so the light shown in his eyes and noted the pronounced dilation of the pupils. "Five minutes more and you won't feel much of anything. Are you in pain now?"

Hadji frowned blearily, as though thinking was an effort. "Yes," he finally said. Then he seemed to focus on Jonny and he grinned dopily. "Don' care, though." He started to laugh and then stopped, a surprised look appearing on his face. "I thin' tha' hurt . . ."

Jonny laughed softly and then touched his cheek gently. "You rest now, okay? Sleep would be good."

That seemed to penetrate the drug-induced haze, and Hadji stirred as though trying to sit up. "No. We need to leave here . . ."

"No," Jonny said firmly, pressing him back down again. "Hadji . . . Hadji, listen to me. Are you paying attention?"

"Yes."

"I want you to relax and rest. Leave it to me for now, okay? I'll take care of it."

". . . 'll get in trouble . . ." Hadji replied muzzily.

"No, I won't get in trouble, but I do plan on causing some for other people. You said that it's time to bring this fight out into the open. Well, while you rest, I'm going to get that started. I will also get some of these people out if I can. By this time tomorrow, you'll be more ready to move. Okay? Will you trust me to handle this?"

" . . . trust you . . . . . . always . . . have . . . you and Father . . ." he murmured softly, beginning to drift away again. "Want to go home . . . to Father . . ." 

"Shhhh," Jonny said hastily, seeing the look of pain on Neela's face. "It's all right. Just rest."

" . . . and Kefira . . . my beautiful . . . Kefira . . . go back home . . . where we belong . . ." For a long moment he was silent and Jonny thought he had fallen asleep, but then he stirred once more, as though in pain. He sounded as though he was very far away as he added, " . . . hate it here . . ."

And then on a soft sigh, he drifted into unconsciousness.

Hoping to fill the painful silence, Jonny cleared his throat and said to Mahavir, "I'm going to need good light for this. Go get that large flashlight. You can train it on the wound while I stitch this up." Tearing open a packet of sulfa powder, he dusted the wound liberally with it and then ripped open a package of sutures. Bright light flared as Mahavir knelt down beside Neela and trained the light on Hadji's side. Jonny took a deep breath. "Okay, here we go."

Fifteen minutes later, he straightened with a sigh. "That's the best I can do," he said wearily. "We'll hope it's good enough. Give me that large gauze pad and let's get this bound up."

"Where did you learn to do such things?" Mahavir asked in amazement as he handed Jonny the requested item. "Are you training to be a doctor?"

Jonny chuckled softly. "No, but Hadji and I have spent our lives traveling with my dad to strange and out of the way places where medical attention was never very close at hand. We all learned basic medical care in case of emergencies. If our positions were reversed, Hadji could have done the same . . . and has, more than once." 

Neela stood suddenly and said, "I will be back shortly." Then, before anyone could protest, she was gone.

Jonny started to say something, but Vijay cut him off. "Leave her alone," he said shortly. "Allow her some peace to recover her balance." Jonny looked at Vijay for a long moment before nodding and starting to gather up the medical supplies.

"You are Jonny Quest," Vijay said, looking at him somewhat coldly. "The Sultan's American brother."

"Yes."

"You came with him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Jonny looked up at him in surprise. "Why what?"

"I mean, why did the two of you return to Bangalore? You had to know there was trouble here. Danger."

"Of course we knew. But he felt that he had to come back, even if it was dangerous. Why do you think I came with him?" he replied irritably. "I wasn't going to let him walk into this without someone he could trust to safeguard his back."

"There are many here he can trust. He knows this."

Jonny rose slowly and turned to face the man squarely. Around him, he could feel the others drawing closer, watching them.

"Maybe," Jonny replied evenly. "But none of them are family."

"The Lady Neela . . ." 

"Has divided loyalties," Jonny cut him off harshly, starting to lose his temper. "She's made that clear enough more times than I can count. You really don't get it, do you? Dad, Jess, Race, me . . . we don't have any other obligations that force us to make a choice. For us, it's simple. It's family over everything else. Hadji needs us . . . nothing else matters. Period. There's no weighing his needs over those of the common good or the political ramifications of our actions. When he needs us we'll do whatever it takes." His anger was clear as he looked at all of the people standing around them. "You really don't get it, do you? Any of you. Up until he was 14, he didn't know he was a Sultan. He had no memory of this place at all. If it hadn't been for one of our father's inventions, he wouldn't know it today. And yet, the minute you discover he's still alive, you expect him to drop everything he's ever wanted or dreamed of to be your Sultan. None of you thought to ask if it's what he wanted, did you? You just assumed that's what he would do. The desire to rule isn't programmed into his genes, you know!" Turning, he stalked away. "Isn't there anywhere in the stupid place that's clean? Where he doesn't have to lie on the floor in the dirt?" he demanded angrily.

Vijay Patel eyed him for a long moment and then gestured to two of his people. "There is a small room through there. The Lady Neela and I had cleaned it partially to give us a place to rest. Take whatever you can find and do a more thorough job. We were also able to take some sleeping mats and linens. Make a bed for him." Then Vijay turned back to Jonny. "In the meantime, we will strip his bloody garments and clean him up so that he can rest comfortably."

Jonny nodded stiffly. Then he turned away once more, struggling to get his temper under control as he began carrying the medical supplies to a nearby wall niche to get them out of the way. The two men worked silently for a while as the muted sounds of cleaning could be heard from the other room. Well, you've done it again, Quest, he thought bitterly. You let your impulsiveness get the better of you. Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut for once? 

More than once, Jonny glanced over at Vijay to see him gazing at Hadji. The last time, Vijay caught Jonny watching him and he asked quietly, "Is he really so very unhappy here?"

Jonny shifted uncomfortably, then looked away and shrugged. "You need to ask him that question. I've probably said more than I should already."

"I knew that he was working toward dissolving the Sultancy . . . that he wished to turn the government into one run by people . . . much as the United States or India have," Vijay continued as though he hadn't heard Jonny. "But I did not realize that he disliked it here so much."

"It's not Bangalore that's the problem," Jonny replied, feeling compelled to explain to this man. "Or the people. It's the job. All he's ever wanted . . . from as far back as I've known him . . . was to work with our father doing research. Pure scientific research . . . to hunt for the whys and hows of all the mysteries of the universe. It's what he's really good at." Jonny's smile was touched with sadness. "Did you know he's been into outer space? That he and Dad rode the space shuttle up to the orbiting research space station? He loved that. It was all he could talk about for weeks, both before and after the trip. It's having to tell others what to do and having them need him to do it that he has trouble with." Jonny rubbed his face wearily. "What it will do to him when he finds out about Rajeev and Anila . . ."

"He knows," Vijay replied. "I told him."

Jonny looked back at his brother again. "How did he take it?"

"It . . . pained . . . him."

Jonny sighed softly. "It will do worse than that to him before this is all over. There's been no time for him to really absorb it yet." He turned away from Vijay, intending to find a place to sit down and rest for a while, but froze as he saw Neela standing about four feet away, watching them.

"He was born to be royalty," she said with quiet bitterness, "to have everything this country has to offer. And he wants none of it. So in the end . . . in spite of everything all of us have tried to do . . . he will never rule. Deepak and Vikram have won after all."

"Have they?" Jonny asked softly, crossing to take her hand gently. "Or have they lost more completely than they ever could possibly have imagined?"

The silence held for a long moment as they all considered that thought. Finally, a new voice said tentatively, "I - I believe the room is ready now."

Releasing Neela's hand he turned to the others once more and gestured toward Hadji. "Let's move him then, so he can rest quietly. Once that's finished, we all need to do the same. The next 24 hours are liable to be tough."


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter Forty-five**

  


It was still several hours before dawn when Jessie and Kefira followed Tarang Kumar into a cavern near the center of the mine. It was a vast, echoing place whose chill sank deeply into Jessie bones almost as soon as she entered it. Bare lightbulbs hung from crudely strung wire, but their dim glow did little to relieve the dense blackness. In the pallid light, they could just distinguish the multitude of people scattered throughout the cavern. Men, women and children of all ages could be seen resting on the stone floor. Many of them were surrounded by what few personal possessions they had been able to take from their homes when they fled.

As the two of them attempted to cross the huge space, Kefira stopped frequently to talk with individual families. Unfailingly, they greeted her with awed respect and gratitude. Kefira made it a point to introduce Jessie to everyone they stopped to talk with and before they had made it even halfway across the cavern, word had spread and people began lining up for the opportunity to speak with the pair. As a result, it took longer than either of them had anticipated to reach the far side, and by the time they got there, Mr. Kumar had already dragged the weapons crates from their hiding places and was waiting for them.

Kefira stopped and gazed down at the crates expressionlessly. Finally, she looked up and said quietly, "I am entrusting these items to you for safekeeping, Mr. Kumar. I see no choice but to take them with us, but I want you to understand that I do not want you using anything here without my specific instructions."

Kumar looked mystified, but bowed respectfully. "It shall be as you command, Excellency."

Kefira nodded and then turned to Jessie. "So what do we do?"

"Mr. Kumar, I told you yesterday that you needed to assemble all of your able-bodied fighters into groups, each under a nominal leader. Were you able to get that done?"

"Yes. There are eight groups, each group containing approximately thirty men and each with a designated leader." He hesitated briefly and then added, "Half of the groups contain women." Jessie grinned slightly at his obvious discomfort. "They were very insistent that they wished to fight," he said defensively, "and you did say I should take any of an acceptable age that were willing to join."

Jessie laughed softly and patted his shoulder consolingly. "I'm proud of you, Mr. Kumar. We'll make a modern man of you yet. Ideally, we would have our people positioned both inside and outside the fence, but that isn't going to be possible. Kefira tells me the only way out of here is through the main gate."

"The two of you did not come through the main gate," Kumar said pointedly. "We were watching closely."

"No," Jessie said flatly. "We can't risk that in the dark, and if we wait for daylight, not only do we lose our advantage, but anyone who tries to get out the way we got in will be a sitting duck for snipers." She shook her head. "No, our only hope is to hit hard, fast, and with no warning. We go for total confusion and maximum damage in the shortest amount of time possible. We can't give them time to recover. You said eight groups of thirty?"

Kumar nodded, "Plus a few extra."

"So we have a force of roughly 240 to go against our friends outside. I estimate their numbers at right around 50. A little over four to one odds in our favor aren't good numbers when you figure they're trained and we're not." She looked from Kumar to Kefira and said quietly. "You have to know going in that we're going to take losses."

Both nodded and Kefira replied quietly, "We understand. But the losses will be much greater if we allow Birla to continue. It must stop now . . . regardless of the cost."

Jessie took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "Fair enough. Mr. Kumar, I need for you to get your group leaders and have them join us. I will also need a crowbar."

"I will get them," he replied economically and strode away.

Jessie turned back to Kefira. "I'm guessing that you're probably going to be the best shot of anyone here?"

Kefira shrugged. "This is a rural area. Most people have some experience with firearms."

"No, I'm talking about with a sniper rifle. There are four men out there whose specific job is to watch the perimeter fence and the gate."

Kefira raised her eyebrows in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"Because I've been watching. Actually, we're lucky. Our enemy doesn't take us seriously. That's the reason they're sitting there out in the open like targets. Also, I've seen no sign of high-powered modern weaponry. Rifles, knives, bayonets . . . cavalry-style weapons . . . not modern weapons of war."

"I have noticed that, also," Kefira said with a frown. "It seems strange to me. The Janissaries are mercenary soldiers. You would think that they would be better equipped."

Jessie shrugged. "Why should they? They knew that Bangalore didn't have those types of weapons. Why should they spend the money when it wasn't necessary? Furthermore, modern weapons are much better at _killing_ and that's not necessarily what they want. An individual quickly dead makes much less impact on those around them than one that is mangled, but still alive and suffering. The weapons they carry will accomplish that goal nicely. I'm not saying there aren't more modern weapons somewhere else . . . I'm just saying they aren't here. At least, as far as I can tell they aren't. But that's beside the point. The point is that the men designated to guard the perimeter fence must be eliminated . . . preferably before we hit the encampment with the missile. If we can take them out quietly, then we have the chance to get men into place so we're ready when we hit them full force. The worst thing that could happen to us is for the enemy to get wind of what we're doing and for them to scatter before we get out of the gate. It would make us sitting ducks for their riflemen. So, can you handle a silenced sniper rifle with a night scope?"

"Yes," Kefira replied quietly.

"Good." 

The two of them turned to face Mr. Kumar as he approached once more with a group of men behind him. As one they bowed to Kefira and she nodded in silent acknowledgement. Then she said quietly. "All of you know of my sister. She will outline the plan for the coming battle. I expect for all of you to follow her instructions and to command the men that follow you according to her wisdom in this matter. Some of us will die here today. I would say to all of you that there is no shame in choosing not to fight. When the battle is over, we will be leaving this place . . . it will no longer be safe . . . and we will have need of men who can lead those who cannot fight away from here. Mr. Kumar has told me of a place were we may send the young, the disabled and the injured and there will need to be those who can defend them. So I ask you now . . . who among you and your men would prefer to take up that duty rather than face the men outside of our gates right now?"

The silence was profound. Finally, one man from the back spoke up. "Excellency, there are none here that will not follow you. You need only command us."

After a moment, Kefira nodded. "Very well." Then she turned to Jessie. "Sister, tell us what we are to do."

"Okay, listen up. We have greater numbers, but the men we face are trained soldiers. Because of this we want to move as quickly at we can and do as much damage as possible before they have the chance to regroup. I will need one group of men whose job it will be to get the gate open so we can go through it. I'm assuming that it can't be opened quietly?"

"No," Kumar agreed. "It can be opened manually or using an electric motor, but both are noisy."

Jessie nodded. "What I expected. So here's what we're going to do. We saw to it that the yard lights did not come on at sundown, so we've got darkness to cover our movements. About one out of every three of us has a rifle. There are also some handguns and everyone else has been armed with knives. Mr. Kumar will be in charge of the troops on the ground. At his signal, the riflemen will move to the fence and get ready. They will provide cover fire while the gate is opened." She glanced at Kumar. "It would be better if this is done manually. The sound of the gate opening should be covered in the noise and confusion of the battle, but I doubt that the sound of the electric motor will be." He nodded. "Once the gate is opened, it's pretty simple. You leave the compound and you engage the enemy. I want to emphasize that you should not try to take on any of the enemy hand-to-hand if you can avoid it. These are men who have been raised to fight. You will be seriously outmatched in a close-combat situation. Use your rifles and kill from a distance wherever possible. Those who don't have rifles or handguns, don't hesitate to obtain one on the field of battle and use it. Do what you need to do to defeat our enemy and to stay alive. Questions?"

"Are we just to begin firing into the encampment?" one man asked. "It will not take them long to become prepared to meet us."

Jessie gestured for the crowbar that Mr. Kumar still held. "No," she replied. "The first strike will be the Sultana's, who will remove the gate guards." Bending down, she wedged the crowbar under the lid of the crate at her feet and exerted pressure sharply until the lid came free with a shriek. Reaching into the crate, she lifted a missile launcher out of the box and swung it up onto her shoulder. "The next strike will be mine." She thumbed the power switch on and the initializing diagnostics on the targeting panel flashed to life. After a moment, the diagnostics disappeared and a single word appeared on the LED screen. READY. Jessie nodded and flipped off the power switch once more. When she looked at the men surrounding her again, she saw that they were all staring at her fixedly.

In an awed whisper, Mr. Kumar began, "Is that a . . ."

"Yes. The missile should create tremendous confusion as well as starting fires in the camp. Move with care as you enter the area. I've been unable to determine where they have their ammunition stored. If fire gets to that, it will cause a serious explosion." Laying the launcher loosely back in its crate, Jessie took the crowbar and walked over to one of the smaller boxes. After opening it, she returned a moment later with a radio headset. She showed it to Kefira. "You still have yours?" The young woman nodded. Then Jessie handed the unit to Mr. Kumar and demonstrated how to wear it. "The Sultana and I will keep in contact with you using this," she said to the older man. "You move when I tell you to. Got it?" He nodded. "Any other questions?" 

The was a soft shuffling among those facing Jessie and Kefira and finally a hesitant voice spoke up. "Excellency, what of the Sultan?"

"He is alive," Kefira replied with quiet confidence. "He is here, in Bangalore, fighting in another area. As we leave here, we move to join him." She sighed softly. "I know that what I am asking of you will be very difficult. But I truly believe, as does my husband, that there is no longer any other way. If our enemies are allowed to have their way . . . " Her voice trailed off, leaving the final thought unspoken, but everyone seemed to understand. Then her head came up again and gave each of the men in front of her a stern look. "But there is one thing I want to make clear. We fight for our country, now. We have no choice. But we are _not_ barbarians, even if our enemies are. Do what you must, but I will not tolerate wanton slaughter for the sake of vengeance. Is that understood?"

A low murmur came from the men surrounding them, and everyone murmured their assent. With a nod, Kefira looked at Jessie once more. "Sister?" 

"Okay, go back to your men and begin giving them instructions. Mr. Kumar, I need for you to see to getting the women and children ready to move. The less they have to carry the better. They will have their hands full just transporting what they have to take with them. Wherever possible, let's store personal items here. With luck, they'll be able to come back for them one day soon." Jessie consulted her watch. "I need the riflemen in the large machine shed at surface level in forty minutes. Everyone else I want in the excavation pit, lined up and ready to begin the climb up the pit road in thirty. And whatever you do . . . keep it quiet. We don't want to wake up our friends out there until we strike. Now get going!"

Jessie and Kefira stood silently watching them fade back into the gloom of the cavern. Then Jessie leaned down and began rummaging in the crate once more. Kefira watched her for a moment and then asked quietly. "Where do you plan to position yourself for the missile shot?"

Jessie straightened, holding two black leather straps. One had hooks on either end and the other appeared to be a belt. Picking up the launcher once more, she fastened the strap with hooks onto the weapon carefully and set it down once more. "On the top of the excavator that's sitting out in the yard by the machine shed. It will be easy enough to climb the latticework of the arm structure and the top of it is a good thirty feet above the top of the fence. It will give me a good shot down on the camp."

"No!" Kefira exclaimed in alarm as Jessie began donning an equipment belt. "It is too precarious. The recoil of the missile launcher alone is liable to knock you off!"

"If the equipment is as good as Paul claimed, there won't be a recoil. Missile launchers are pretty well balanced. And even if there is, the machine is sturdy and I'll anchor myself securely before taking the shot." Going to another crate, she opened it and carefully removed one of the missiles from it's packing. Checking it quickly, she dropped it into a special pouch on the left side of the equipment belt specifically designed for that purpose and then reached down for a second one. "But if something should go wrong, the important thing for you to remember is to hit fast and hard and then get out. Until you have larger numbers and some trained fighters, hit and run is going to be the only thing you can do. I know you want to protect your people, but _you_ have to stay out of harm's way. This war is lost before it starts if you die, and you can bet that Jonny is saying exactly the same thing to Hadji. Are we clear on that point?"

Kefira swallowed hard. "Yes," she replied, as she watched Jessie drop the second missile into a matching pouch on her other side and do one final check of the equipment belt. Then she zipped up her bomber jacket securely, picked up the missile launcher, slung it across her back, and fastened the second strap around her waist, anchoring the weapon to her back securely. 

"Let's check the radios," Jessie said quietly. After confirming that they were working, Jessie took a deep breath and looked at the other woman. "That's it then. You understand the plan?" Kefira nodded. "Okay. It's 3:15. I'll plan to launch at 4:00 a.m. sharp."

"I will have everyone in place and the gate guards down by that time."

"Good. The sniper rifle and the night scope are in that crate." She paused for a moment and then said, "Well, I better get started. I've got a long climb ahead of me. You be careful."

"You also." For an instant, they stared at each other wordlessly and then Kefira stepped forward and embraced Jessie quickly. "Go with God, sister," she said hoarsely. "And come back to us."

Jessie hugged her tightly for a moment and then, without another word, she turned and strode off into the darkness.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


An icy wind blew down off of the surrounding mountains and swirled around Jessie as she paused, clinging tightly to the metal latticework on the arm of the huge mining crane. She shivered convulsively as she clutched the metal cross braces tightly with numb fingers. Even with gloves, the cold penetrated through to the bone. The weight of the missile launcher and its ammunition dragged at her, and she breathed deeply, trying to be as quiet as possible. Below and to her right, she could see the dying flicker of the campfire that marked the center of the enemy camp. Stars glittered like diamonds in a velvet sky, silhouetting the top of the crane as a black-on-black shadow above her. No other light shown anywhere. Taking another deep breath, she began climbing once more. A short time later, she pulled herself up to the top and paused for a moment.

The huge machine she had just climbed was a giant mining excavator. Designed to remove huge quantities of surface earth and rubble, it had a pair of tracks that allowed the machine to move. From the front of the operation center, a huge, jointed metal excavation arm rose at a sharp angle into the air about thirty feet before the lower section of the arm folded down earthward again, terminating in a huge shovel which rested on the ground in front of the tracks of the machine.

Jessie straddled the joint and explored her perch carefully. Finally, she nodded to herself. It would do. Mindful of Kefira's comment, Jessie opened one of the pouches of the utility belt she wore and pulled out a length of nylon strapping. She settled herself as comfortably as possible and then wrapped the nylon strap around her hips twice before leaning over and attaching the hooked ends to either side of the crane arm. Then, she used the ratcheting mechanism on either end to tighten the strap until she was anchored securely.

For a few moments, she sat there, her hands tucked in her armpits trying to warm them, as she gazed down at her target. Everything still seemed quiet. An unexpected flare of light suddenly caught her attention. Reaching into the utility pack again, she pulled out a set of night sight distance glasses and peered down sharply. It took her a minute to make out the shape of the guard bent over the match. Jessie smiled grimly. _Go ahead,_ she thought. _Make yourself an easy mark._ Dropping the glasses back into the utility pack, she shoved the sleeve of her jacket back and peered at the dial of her watch. 3:37. Time to check her equipment and get ready.

Carefully, she released the strap around her waist and swung the launcher around in front of her. Resting it on the crane arm, she ducked and slipped the shoulder strap over her head, freeing the weapon. She brought it to her shoulder and activated it once more. The LED flashed to life and a moment later, READY shown in the dark. Lowering it once more, she thumbed a release and then flipped open the missile chamber. She reached into the pouch and pulled out one of the missiles. Seating it carefully, she snapped the chamber closed and rotated the weapon so she could see the LED once more. READY had disappeared and in its place she saw LOADING. The READY reappeared, followed by a second line . . . READY TO TARGET. Once again, she raised it to her shoulder and activated the night sight. The camp suddenly appeared before her in strange, silhouetted shades of green. Centering the fire at the center of the camp in the crosshairs of the sight, she pressed the targeting button. A head's up display flashed to life over the campsite in her sights and the horizontal lines intensified. 

CONFIRM HORIZONTAL TARGET LOCATION

She pressed the targeting button once more. The horizontal crosshair faded and the vertical one flared to life.

CONFIRM VERTICAL TARGET LOCATION.

Jessie adjusted to her right slightly and pressed the targeting button one more time.

TARGET LOCKED. FINAL CONFIRMATION OF TARGET WILL ARM MISSILE. WARNING: TRIGGER SAFETY STILL ENGAGED.

"Jessie," a soft voice in her ear called. She lowered the weapon carefully.

"Here," she breathed softly.

"The perimeter guards are down and everyone is in place. Are you prepared?"

"Yes. Mr. Kumar, are you there?"

"I am here."

"When the camp goes up, you are to move. Remember, hit hard and fast. Don't give them time to recover. Clear?"

"Yes."

"One other thing, Mr. Kumar."

"Yes?"

"Don't let anything happen to her."

"I will see that she remains safe," he replied grimly over Kefira's soft exclamation of protest.

"You listen to him, Kefira," Jessie hissed in a fierce whisper. "No unnecessary risks. I'll be back with you as quickly as I can." She looked at her watch once more. "It's 3:56. Get ready people. It's show time."

Jessie swung the weapon up to her shoulder again and flipped off the trigger safety. Then she pressed the targeting button one final time. The LED blanked out for a second and then three words appeared.

READY TO FIRE

Jessie anchored her legs in the latticework, tightened her thighs on her perch, seated the shoulder stock firmly against her shoulder, took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The recoil was little more than a bump, but she hardly noticed. Her eyes were locked on the flaming trail of the missile even as she lowered the weapon and fumbled the second missile out and loaded it into the chamber. She was already swinging the launcher up to her shoulder to establish the target for the second launch when the first one hit.

The explosion ripped through the night and the camp burst into flames. Men staggered out of the tents and she could hear screams as she moved through the targeting sequence more swiftly this time. Her first scan of the enemy camp through the night scope had shown something that had taken some time to register, but when it did, it had provided her with a second, even more urgent target. Her scan showed her a truck parked behind a huge boulder about 10 to 15 meters outside of the camp. It was out of the line of sight of the gate entrance to the mine and as far away from it as was practical. Without hesitation, she targeted the truck and pulled the trigger. A second later the truck exploded with gratifying violence. Jessie had found the ammunition storage.

Swiftly, she swung the launcher across her shoulder again. She leaned over and released the strap across her hips, her breath hissing sharply through clenched teeth as the hot barrel of the missile launcher swung down and came in contact with the side of her neck. She jerked upright, swearing viciously in every language she knew. She clawed the nylon strap loose and flung it away into the night. Below her, she could hear the sounds of gunfire beginning to mingle with the continuing eruptions from the burning truck and the screams. Then, a bullet ricocheted sharply off of the metal structure not far from where she sat.

_Time to vacate, girl,_ she told herself, belting the missile launcher in place hastily. After the initial pain, the burn didn't seem too bad . . . a fact that worried her a bit. She was going to need to treat it as soon as possible. A second bullet zinged past as she swung her leg over and began a hasty descent. It was definitely time to be gone. Furthermore, she was needed elsewhere.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


The Janissary troops had fought fiercely, but in the end they had been no match for their adversaries. Hit unexpectedly, boxed in by the mountains on two sides, and the raging inferno of their own ammunition at their backs, the bewildered soldiers had no choice but to turn and face their enraged opponents. And they had turned out to be opponents the likes of which they had not faced in this country before.

During strategy meetings with his superiors, the Commander had often argued that the tactics being used in the countryside were unwise. He was a proud man who remembered the honored history of the Janissary Corp and believed that mercenary soldiers should be honorable and live by the ancient code. That code had always held that there were rules in war that precluded the slaughter of innocents and the deliberate torture and maiming of those they were hired to fight. He had spoken out firmly against the actions that were being taken against the people of Bangalore and warned repeatedly that those actions were likely to come back to haunt them before this conflict was over. Looking around him now, the Commander thought dully how right he had been. Furious and driven, the Bangalorians had struck mercilessly and allowed no quarter, besting the seasoned soldiers as though they were little more than green recruits.

It hadn't taken the Commander long to recognize that his opponents were a great deal more than the lot of poor peasants they usually faced. This attack was obviously planned and led by someone who understood military tactics. Small teams of four to six men appeared and disappeared into the smoke and darkness like spirits, never staying visible long enough to make reasonable targets. They also hit pockets of effective resistance with uncanny accuracy, dissolving the potential threat before it could fully form. The Commander's troops had been driven like sheep by a herding dog into positions that were impossible to defend. The slaughter had been swift and catastrophic.

The first hint of light was touching the mountaintops when the Commander stopped and looked around him numbly. Day was coming, but for the moment, darkness still shrouded the valley. The only light came from the dying fires that still burned intermittently throughout the devastated camp. They were more than adequate to illuminate the carnage. 

The coming dawn breathed softly, stirring the still air. The Commander coughed and swiped at his streaming eyes. The sound of gunfire was still now, but the cries of the wounded still echoed through the darkness, and the Commander struggled to pull himself together for the confrontation that he was sure was coming. The flames reflected off of the hanging smoke, turning the air a sullen orange.

They appeared through the smoke . . . six men, grim-faced and tense. All were armed and the Commander could read his own death in their eyes. Holding his rifle out from his side, he knelt slowly and set the weapon on the ground, taking care to make no threatening moves. The six men remained motionless, their guns leveled on him. The hatred in their eyes was like living fire. The Commander straightened and they faced each other silently for a long, tense moment. Then, out of the haze, came a sharp voice. The Commander didn't catch the words, but their effect was immediate. The line of men that faced him split in the middle and fell back, forming an aisle between them. A subtle change in demeanor warned the Commander that he was about to confront his fate.

She materialized like a wraith, striking him dumb. Had he been able to move, he would have fallen to the ground and hidden his face, certain he faced Kali herself. She was clad in black, moved with the authority of a god, and her unbound hair seemed to move with a life of its own. A blood red gem lay between her breasts and it seemed to glitter with living fire as she advanced toward him. He shuddered superstitiously. Offsetting the supernatural image was the eminently real assault rifle, which she cradled easily in her right arm.

Two others flanked the mysterious woman. On her left was a middle-aged man who appeared to be a native of Bangalore. His clothing was worn but of good quality and he carried himself as if he were accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed. The woman's other companion caused the Commander to stare openly. Her fair skin, green eyes and red hair marked her clearly as a foreigner . . . and a deadly one. The Commander had been born into the Janissaries, the fourth generation in his family to have been so, and he had spent all of his life as a soldier, learning the skills of war and how to assess his opponents. The red-headed woman that faced him now triggered all of his warning alarms. She moved fluidly, much like the elusive hunting cats he had seen in the mountains. Her eyes were restless and wary, constantly watching her surroundings, and her nicely muscled frame warned him that she was likely to be well-versed in hand-to-hand combat. Fleetingly, he felt regret. Had the circumstances been different, she would have made an outstanding recruit, regardless of the fact that she was a woman. Then, as she moved further out of the haze and the firelight illuminated her more clearly, the Commander stiffened sharply.

"YOU!" he exclaimed harshly, starting forward unconsciously. Nine rifles snapped up and focused on him, bringing him to an abrupt stop once more. "You did this!" The red-headed woman raised one eyebrow sardonically but didn't reply. Using one elbow, she shifted the missile launcher strapped to her back into a slightly different position. "We had no such weapons, no . . ."

"And what would you have done if you had known we had such capabilities?" the Bangalorian woman replied coldly, coming to a stop squarely in front of him about fifteen feet away.

"We did not bring that kind of firepower into this conflict," he replied hotly. "This is an underdeveloped country without modern weapons of war. We were not coming here to massacre the people . . ."

"No?" Kefira replied disdainfully. "You appear to have done a remarkable job, regardless of the weaponry you brought with you. Further, you came here in the employ of a man who would enslave and massacre them even more slowly than the clean death fighting might have offered them. Do not expect me to feel badly for using the advantages that I have at my disposal!"

"There are rules . . ." the man began with considerable heat, but again she cut him off.

"You talk to me of **_rules_**???" For the first time, the heat of anger warmed her voice. She stepped forward to stand less than four feet from him, her eyes blazing in fury as she stared directly into his.

"No, Excellency!" her male companion said urgently, trying to grasp her arm and draw her back. She shrugged off his hand as though it were nothing.

"You, whose people were banned from this country because of the atrocities you committed, the number of people you tortured and killed? You want to reprimand **_me_** and speak of rules? Everywhere you go, you bring death and misery . . . "

"We are mercenaries! Our job is war! You would not be so critical if it had been _**you**_ who had needed our services!"

"There are rules."

For the first time, the other woman spoke. Stepping up, she drew her companion back and interposed herself between the two of them.

"And those of us who wage war know the price of breaking those rules. One of the oldest and most sacred rules of engagement has always been that those who fight are fair game, but non-combatants are not. The honorable soldier does not slaughter children. And they do not wantonly cut down families or burn homes with people inside simply for the sake of breaking the spirit of those who do fight." The woman shook her head. "The Sultana is correct, you have no right to speak of rules . . . not when you and your people were the first to break them."

"A soldier knows the need to follow orders . . . " the Commander replied stiffly.

The green eyes bored into his for a long moment. Then they flicked down to the insignias that specified his rank and immediately locked eyes with him again. "Do you always follow orders, Commander?" she asked softly. "In spite of your own honor and that of your men?"

"A soldier follows orders," he repeated, but his eyes fell and he wouldn't look at her.

She moved forward until the two of them stood toe-to-toe and their eyes locked once more. From the background, the Commander heard the young Sultana murmur, "Jessie . . ." in obvious distress.

"How far, Commander?" Jessie asked softly once more, the intensity of her gaze holding him motionless. "How far into dishonor will you go to follow orders? Once, many years ago, being a member of the Janissaries was something to be proud of. Their services were in constant demand and they were the chosen personal guard of Suleiman the Great himself. Families vied to place their young sons in the Corp, knowing that they would receive the best education of any available, have an honorable career, and be respected everywhere they went. Now, they are known as butchers, and the stealers of children. Tell me, Commander, how much longer will you continue to follow orders that promote the decay of your very soul?"

The Commander stared at Jessie in silence for a long time. Her words struck at him like a knife, piercing deeply and opening a wound that had been festering for a long time. A sudden fascination with this young woman filled him, causing him to forget the others. Hoarsely, he said, "You understand. You are a soldier." It wasn't a question.

She inclined her head in a curious gesture . . . one the Commander couldn't quite interpret. "When necessary, I am a soldier . . . of a sort . . . as my father was before me. But I am not a soldier by trade . . ."

"Then what do you do?" Anger was gone now, replaced by honest interest, and the man spoke easily, as though to an equal.

Jessie shrugged. "At times, I am a student. At others, a computer programmer. And sometimes even a research technician."

"A wife?"

For the first time, he saw her smile. "Not yet."

His fascination with her grew uncontrollably and the Commander realized that he really wanted to get to know her better. "There is a man?" he questioned insistently, hope lighting his eyes.

She laughed softly, but somehow the sound didn't make him feel humiliated. "There is a man," she acknowledged. Then she inclined her head slightly and in a voice that carried only to him, she said gently, "However, your interest does me honor, Commander." After a moment he nodded slightly, accepting her gentle refusal with grace. Then she sobered. "But you didn't answer my question, Commander. How far will you go to follow orders?"

His eyes fell once more. "I do not know," he replied softly.

"Think about it, Commander. The day is coming where you are going to be faced with a choice. I hope you make the right one." With that, she stepped back to stand beside the other woman once more.

"What of my men?"

"Kill them!" one of the Sultana's guards cried harshly. "Kill them and leave them for the carrion birds as a lesson to the others!"

"NO!" the young Sultana snapped sharply, turning her head in the man's direction. "I will not tolerate that kind of behavior!"

"But it is no less than what they did to your parents!" the young man protested.

"The Commander's superiors and companions may have no honor, but I do. I will not act in that fashion. His men will be offered what care we can provide. Those that cannot move will be left in the mine. Those that can will be taken, under guard, to the high pass north of here and released." She looked back at the Commander. "If I give you the chance to get your injured to safety, can I trust you to take it and to leave this conflict behind?"

The Commander bowed to the young woman. "The honorable soldier recognizes when he has been defeated and honors the terms of his surrender. If you demand that I take my men and leave the country as part of those terms, then I am compelled to do so."

"Do you have an honorable second, Commander?" Jessie asked.

"I would have no second that was not," the man replied stiffly. "All of my men are honorable or they do not stay in my command."

Jessie held up her hand placatingly. "That's good, Commander. Under the terms of surrender outlined, your men will be escorted out of this country and they are not to return. But you, Commander . . . I have another job for you."

Anger flared again as he said flatly. "Surrender does not mean you have the right to command me."

"I don't intend to issue orders to you, Commander. But I am going to do something that has always been considered acceptable . . . I am going to send you back to your superiors with a message."

"What message?"

"You are to tell them that the rightful rulers of this country, Hadji and Kefira Singh, have returned, and it is their orders that you and the rest of the Janissary Corp are to leave this country. You are here illegally and the man that hired you has no authority to bring you back."

"You are also to say," Kefira stated flatly, "that the usurper, Arun Birla, is now under an edict of death for the crimes of high treason and murder, and that any that follow him will suffer the same fate."

"Do you understand the message you are to convey?" Jessie asked him.

For a long moment, he gazed from one young woman to another. "You cannot win," he said softly. "The Janissaries are trained soldiers. You must know that if you set me free to deliver this message, then I must also tell them what happened here. Once they know of the type of firepower you have, my superiors will bring in similar weaponry and you will be hopelessly outmatched."

Kefira smiled at the man without humor. "That may be true, Commander, but you will have to get the weapons here before you can use them. And before you have the chance to do that, Mr. Birla will be dead and you will have no employer. Somehow, I do not think a mercenary will fight if he is not paid. Am I wrong?"

Suddenly, the man's face cleared and he smiled. "No Excellency, you are not wrong."

"Furthermore, you don't give us enough credit, Commander," Jessie added. "You, all of people, should know that war is as much politics as fighting. Weapons are only a small part of the entire war."

The Commander laughed then. "If you can fight the war of politics, lady, then you are a better soldier than I. I will gladly carry your message. What is more, I will be certain that as I make my way to my superiors, the word is spread that the Sultan and Sultana have returned to Bangalore." The Commander bowed respectfully to Kefira. "May I see to my men now, Sultana Singh?"

Kefira returned the bow formally. "An honorable opponent is a gift beyond price. Go with God, Commander, and let us both pray that we do not cross paths again."

"Or that we cross paths under better circumstances."

Kefira smiled slightly and nodded. "As you say. Mr. Kumar, go with the Commander. See that his men are cared for and made ready to move. Then find him a horse and send him on his way." There was a glint of humor in her eyes and she said to him, "I want you to get there, Commander. I just don't want you to get there too soon."

The Commander laughed, bowed one last time, and then followed Kumar into the shadows.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Sunrise was about two hours gone when Kefira and Jessie met again outside the main gate of the Subramanian mine. A temporary medical station had been set up just inside of the gates and the two stopped a short way from the busy people who moved among the wounded.

"Casualities?" Jessie asked.

Kefira sighed. "Four dead, about 50 injured. Of that number, about half are hurt badly enough that they can't fight again and will have to be taken to a place of safety. There are about ten who may yet die. Only time will tell."

Jessie nodded wearily. "It's better than I expected, actually. Much better. The hit and run tactics worked beyond my wildest dreams."

"Most of these men feed their families by hunting. If they were not good at stalking, they would starve."

"A point to remember," Jessie acknowledged. "The Commander and his men are away."

Kefira nodded. "I saw them go. Mr. Kumar said they buried their dead and took all of the others, even those that shouldn't be traveling."

"It didn't surprise me when the Commander told me he was going to do that. An honorable soldier never leaves his men in the hands of the enemy if he can help it. Do you know he lost almost 75% of his fighting force? He only had 24 left alive and all of them, including him, were injured in some fashion."

"As you said, the hit and run tactics we utilized were a success. Are we certain that letting the Commander go was a good idea?"

"Yes, I think it was. It gains us several things. For one, it will spread the word that you and Hadji are in country, giving the people a reason to keep fighting. Secondly, it will add tremendous pressure to Birla. Not only does he now have the rightful rulers of the country screaming for his blood, but his precious Janissaries have lost a major battle to the locals and he will know that that success will energize the populace and turn them more firmly against him. And finally, word will spread and Jonny and Hadji are bound to hear about this."

Kefira grimaced. "Yes, and Hadji will be _so_ pleased to find out that I am here."

Jessie snorted. "You think he isn't expecting it already? Trust me, he won't be surprised."

"You are probably right." Kefira paused, watching the scurrying activity. "Tell me, do you really believe that you can sow discontent in the ranks of the Janissaries?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On how many men like the Commander there still are in the Janissary Corp. The Janissaries were once the cream of the crop when it came to soldiers. What I said was true . . . it used to be an honorable profession."

"He was certainly interested in you."

"I was just a little different. The kind of opponent he was unaccustomed to meeting."

"One that seemed to immediately understand him," Kefira corrected. "You touched a sensitive spot, I think. And I also believe his interest was much more than professional."

Jessie shrugged. "He was a good man in a bad situation." She paused, contemplating it a moment longer. "He's a lot like my dad, I think. Dad left the service for much the same things that are eating at the Commander. And if you love me at all, you won't mention the Commander's interest in me anywhere _near_ Jonny! He'd freak."

Kefira looked at her and grinned. "I'll try to remember." Then she reached out and tapped Jessie's neck gently. "How bad is this?"

Jessie reached up and touched the large white bandage lightly. "It'll heal. At least it hurts now. For a while, I was afraid it was worse than it turned out to be. My own fault. I was in a hurry and didn't take the care I should have. Have you made up your mind about what you want to do next?"

"Yes. We'll be moving out within the hour. With the Commander on his way back to his superiors, we're under even more of a time constraint. We need to move as quickly as we can to keep our advantage."

"Where do we go?"

"The armory," Kefira replied immediately. "We have to cut off their supply lines. And if your message got through, the Sipahi should be waiting for us.

"The armory it is." Jessie nodded toward the gate. "Here comes Mr. Kumar."

The man stopped in front of Kefira and bowed respectfully. "All is in readiness, Excellency. The injured have been loaded onto trucks and have been dispatched to the monastery just over the border. One of the men who has a home in this region assures me that the monks will take them in and see they get the care they require."

"What of the border? Surely it will be guarded."

"I have sent a group of armed men ahead of them. I hope that the Janissary troops that went before us will have convinced the border guards to go with them. The Commander's second said that he would attempt to get them to do so. If not, there should still be no problem. The Commander told me that there were rarely more than two men at this particular crossing since the only thing for hundreds of miles is the monastery and snow and ice."

"Very good. What of our preparations to move on?"

"All of the remaining trucks, both those belonging to your father and the ones the Janissaries used, have been made ready. The combined number of trucks is large enough that we will have plenty of room to transport all our remaining people. In fact, we have more than we need. What should we do with the extra vehicles?"

"We will bring them with us," Jessie said. "It's not a good idea to leave anything behind that your enemy might be able to use against you later. Furthermore, you never know when we might need them. I assume we have plenty of fuel for them?" Mr. Kumar nodded. "Good. How about our weapons and ammunition?"

"We confiscated all of the weapons we found. All were in excellent condition and well cared for."

"The Commander was a good soldier and required the same of his men," Jessie replied.

Mr. Kumar nodded. "The original owners of the weapons also carried a generous supply of extra ammunition on them." He grimaced. "Retrieving it was not always a pleasant task.

Kefira smiled sympathetically. "You did well, my friend. How soon can we be ready to leave?"

"Within the hour."

"Excellent. See to it and notify me as soon as everything is prepared."

"Yes, Excellency."

Jessie watched the man walk away for a long moment and then she sighed softly and looked over at Kefira, "Well, on to the next step . . ."


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter Forty-six**

  


"That does it. All the explosives are set," Jonny said softly to Mahavir as he closed the hidden door soundlessly.

"Good," the young Indian replied. "The search for us is intensifying and I had begun to fear you would be captured."

Jonny grinned fleetingly. "Don't think I could have passed myself off as belonging here, huh?"

"With that pale skin? No." The skin dye was gone, as were the contact lenses that turned his eyes from blue to brown. The only thing that remained was the black hair. As the two young men began to make their way through the passageways back toward the old sections of the palace, Mahavir shot Jonny a sideways look that caused him to raise an eyebrow.

"What?"

"It is strange . . ."

"What is?"

Mahavir hesitated before continuing reluctantly, "Ever since the Sultan returned to Bangalore, I have heard people speak of his American family, but I had never seen any of you. There were not even pictures."

Jonny shrugged. "We haven't come here often. After the initial flush of gratitude wore off, Neela didn't really like having us around much. Particularly after her efforts to pair up Hadji and Jess didn't work out. I suppose you can't blame her. For Hadji, we represented roots to a place that she really wanted severed. I think Hadji sensed that. He has pictures of all of us . . . lots of them. He always brings them with him when he comes here and takes them away again when he leaves." Jonny hesitated, and then continued reluctantly. "I think at one time he tried leaving a few of them here, and when he returned to us against his mother's wishes, she burned them."

"He never trusted her with them after that."

"No. But you said 'strange'. What did you feel was strange?"

Mahavir shrugged awkwardly. "You are just not what I expected."

Jonny looked sideways at his companion for a long moment and then said bluntly, "What you mean is, you didn't expect me to be white. You've been uncomfortable around me ever since you found out."

"I - I . . ." Mahavir stuttered. Then, with a soft sigh, he admitted, "No. No, I suppose I did not. I was surprised when you went to the pool in the old garden to bathe and the brown dye rinsed off." Then he reached out and pulled Jonny to a stop. In the reflected light of the flashlight, Jonny could see Mahavir's earnest expression. "But I swear to you that it does not make a difference. I was just surprised, that is all."

Jonny laughed softly. "It's okay. And if you think you feel strange now, just wait till you see me once I figure out how to get the dye out of my hair. That should really shake you. But why does it make a difference what color my skin is, Mahavir?" When the young Indian hesitated, Jonny urged him, "No, go on. Say what you're thinking, no matter what it is. My father has always said that you can't address a problem until it's out in the open where you can look at it honestly."

"Well, if you wish me to be truthful, then I am wondering what purpose a wealthy white man would have had to take a small Indian boy out of the Calcutta gutters in the first place. Surely, if he wished another son, your mother could have given him one."

The silence was awkward. Finally, Jonny replied, "My mother was dead."

"Oh. I am sorry. But still, he could have remarried. Or if he were going to adopt a son, why not one of his own race?"

"Because my father doesn't look at things like that. To him, people are people, no matter what they look like. Appearance is superficial. It's what's in the heart and mind that counts. I think he adopted Hadji for a lot of reasons. Part of it was that I liked Hadji a lot and we got along really well, and Dad thought it would be a good idea for me to have someone my own age to play with. But I think a really big part of it was that Hadji was so incredibly bright and inquisitive, and my Dad couldn't stand seeing his potential wasted." Jonny paused momentarily, a soft smile playing over his lips, as he became lost in the memories of the past. "There was also an instant rapport between them. Right from the beginning, Dad was drawn to him, and it didn't take long for him to learn to love him, too. I remember, about three months after he came to live with us, Hadji started having nightmares. He could never remember them. He would just wake up sweating and crying and terrified. Dad would come into our room and pick him up, wrap him in a blanket and sit for hours, just holding him. I remember that it used to make me feel so incredibly safe to lay in bed and watch the two of them." Suddenly, he shook his head, dispelling the wisps of the past. "It's been hard, coming to accept that he'll be leaving us."

"Will he?" Mahavir asked softly, as the two of them entered the room where they had all been hiding. "Are you so certain of that?"

The look Jonny gave both Mahavir and Vijay, as the other man came up to them, was slightly bitter. "Oh yeah. I'm sure. Of the three of us . . . Hadji, Jess and I . . . Hadji's always been the responsible one. He's always done what's expected of him . . . no matter what the cost." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the two men staring.

A tiny lamp glowed in the darkness of the small room where Hadji lay. It provided only enough light to ensure that shapes were discernible in the darkness, but not enough to really see anything. Jonny knelt beside his brother, listening carefully to his breathing. It was deep and even, with no trace of the earlier distress.

"He still sleeps."

The soft, unexpected voice startled him, and Jonny jumped. He peered over his shoulder into the gloom and after a moment he could just see a shimmer of white against the wall about five feet away.

"I didn't see you there," he said softly to Neela. He slid across the floor and sat down beside her.

"I have been sitting here with him," she replied in the same low voice. "He has woken twice during the day. Both times I was able to get him to drink and to take a little food, and then to get him to sleep again."

"Good. It's what he needs."

The silence stretched between them. Finally, Neela said, "He asked for you both times he was awake. I did not know what to tell him."

"What did you say?"

"That you were out working on a plan to get us out of the palace."

"It was the truth."

"I know."

The silence stretched between them again. Jonny leaned his head back against the wall wearily and allowed himself to relax. The 24 hours since they had come to this place to give Hadji time to recover had been busy and full of tension, and he was very tired. Reality was beginning to fade into a doze when she spoke again.

"Is it true that he married Kefira Subramanian?"

"Yes."

"Were you there?"

"Jess and I witnessed them exchange their Vows of Faith."

"And Dr. Quest?"

"No. He wasn't there."

Neela sighed softly. "He is very like both of his fathers, you know."

"Hadji?"

"Yes. Haresh had no desire to be a Sultan, either. You were right in what you said earlier. The skill to rule is not programmed in the genes, nor is the desire. Some have it and some do not. Neither Haresh nor Hadji had the desire. Haresh also had no real talent for it. He had rapport with the people, but lacked the political skill to be effective. But unlike his son, Haresh never knew anything else. He I _was_ raised to it and was never allowed to consider that there were any other options." Jonny heard a soft expulsion of breath from her, as though she laughed ruefully. "It was the reason I was chosen to be his wife. I had the mind for politics and I was ambitious . . . or at least, as ambitious as a woman was able to be in those times. I could guide him and we ruled well together. There was only one thing that I was never able to sway him on . . . Deepak. Haresh was a loving and gentle man, and he could never believe that his younger brother was evil and would do him harm."

"The heart can blind you sometimes."

"Yes, as can ambition."

The two of them were quiet for a while then, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Jonny said, "I remember the first time we met. I was struck by how much you seemed like Hadji. You were so serene. Like nothing could faze you."

"Serene? I am not sure that is the word I would use. Perhaps patient would be a better term. Certainly by the time we met, I had learned to cultivate patience."

"Hadji's incredibly patient. A lot more than I've ever been. I was always the one that went headlong into things while Hadji stood back and analyzed, gauging his moment."

"As he was doing with Bangalore." Neela sighed softly again. "I never understood what he was planning . . . what he hoped to achieve. And it is good that he did not tell me. I would have tried to stop him. I was too set in the old ways to accept what he wished to do. And if we are to be truthful, I do not believe I have ever fully adjusted to how much the world changed while I was locked away here. The rural peasants have a better feeling for life in the outside world than I do."

"You haven't had much of a chance to see it. When this is over, you should come to the United States and visit. Dad would be happy give you the chance to see a little more of the world."

"Perhaps. Right now, I find it hard to imagine the future. The present darkness obscures it too completely."

"Hadji will win this war, you know. There is too much at stake for him to accept defeat."

"I pray that is so."

On the other side of the room, Hadji stirred restlessly. "Jonny?"

He was at his brother's side almost instantly. "Here. How do you feel?"

"I do not really know. What time is it?"

"About 10:30."

"In the morning?"

"No. At night. It's Thursday night."

"What?!" he exclaimed, struggling to sit up. "Why are we still here? Birla will . . ."

"We're keeping an eye on him," Jonny said, cutting him off and pressing him down to the bed again. "Just take it easy. Mahavir and I have been working all day on a plan to get us out of here and we're pretty well set. Furthermore, it looks like Birla's got a lot more to worry about than just us."

"What do you mean?" Hadji asked, shrugging Jonny's hand off his shoulder and carefully pulling himself up into a sitting position. 

Golden light suddenly flared and steadied as Neela lit an oil lamp. "Gently, my son. You do not want to risk pulling out all of the stitches your brother so carefully put in last night."

"Yeah. It took me long enough the first time. I don't want to have to do it again."

Hadji gingerly laid a hand against his side as he said, "I will take care. Now tell me what has been happening."

Jonny settled cross-legged on the floor next to Hadji's bed. "Things seem to be going from bad to worse for our friend, Mr. Birla. The U.N. Security Council unanimously passed an intervention vote late this afternoon and Birla has been given 24 hours to open the borders and allow U.N. inspectors in to check up on allegations of human rights violations. If he refuses, there are peacekeeping troops massing on the borders that are scheduled to invade in three days. The U.S. government is calling for sanctions, as well as boycotts of products and blockades of imports. They are also screaming bloody murder about your disappearance and demanding that Birla produce both you and Kefira."

"Are U.S. soldiers part of the troop buildup on the border?" Hadji asked.

Jonny shook his head. "Not yet. So far, the manpower is coming largely from India and Pakistan."

Hadji grimaced. "Not wise, having those two countries trying to collaborate."

"You know, it's strange. I can understand why Pakistan might jump in on this situation. Should Birla decide to get greedy and try to expand out of Bangalore, Pakistan might be a likely target, but from what you've told me, this isn't like India."

"I was thinking the same thing yesterday," Hadji agreed. "I had the feeling there was outside pressure being applied in some fashion. Mother, do you know anything about this?"

Neela shook her head. "No. In fact, less than a month ago, I spoke with the prime minister of India, who assured me that nothing would entice them into a conflict in Bangalore."

"So there _is_ outside pressure being applied from somewhere," Hadji said thoughtfully.

"Foreign soldiers on our soil is likely to cause much bloodshed," Neela said quietly.

"Which is why this must be ended quickly, before the U.N. troops invade. Does Mr. Birla still search for us?"

"Oh yeah. With a great deal of diligence." Jonny grinned at his brother. "He's really put out right now. He's all but turned the dungeon upside down trying to find a secret passage out of there. His Janissaries are beginning to think maybe he's gone over the edge. If it weren't for Birla's chief inquisitor being found dead in the middle of a locked dungeon, they'd be convinced of it. We're lucky the guards you eliminated were taken so unexpectedly that they didn't know what hit them."

"We can be grateful there is only the one entrance into the dungeons. You are certain that it is securely barred?"

Jonny nodded. "Yeah. I went back and checked it personally. I've also got all of Mr. Patel's people scattered throughout the passages, keeping a wary eye on everything that's going on, and we've barricaded all of the entrances into major areas that were targets for Birla search."

"So you were not able to get anyone out?"

"No. Too risky. After the business in the dungeons, everyone was stirred up and there was too much activity, both inside the palace and all around the outer perimeter. After watching things for a while, I decided it was smarter to set everything up and then make the break all at once. Furthermore, I needed the manpower to keep an eye on the men who had been assigned to hunt for the passageway entrances. Oh, and speaking of stirred up . . . there's something else going on, too."

"What?"

"I was keeping an eye on Birla late this afternoon when the Captain of the Guard came into his office. That guy seems to relish giving Birla bad news. He told him that a group of the Sipahi and a large number of the rural populace are beginning to mass about 100 miles outside of Bangalore City near the site of a Janissary storehouse."

"I had sent a garrison of the Sipahi to watch that location," Hadji said thoughtfully, "but they were under orders not to stir up any trouble."

"Well, at the time the Captain was talking to Birla, they hadn't attacked, but that may not last. There're rumors echoing everywhere in the palace of a new military leader that has arisen among the people outside the city."

"Military leader?"

"Uh huh. One that's generating a lot of fervor and almost fanatical devotion. Rumor has it that this new leader took out an entire troop of Janissaries in the mountains, is recruiting an army, and is moving on the armory even as we speak."

"Oh, I do not like this!" Neela exclaimed in alarm. "Mr. Birla is bad enough, but if we are forced to combat rebels as well . . . "

Jonny just grinned.

"You look too smug," Hadji stated suspiciously. "What else do you know?"

Jonny shrugged, unable to totally eliminate that grin. "I don't _know_ anything . . . not for certain . . . but several things occur to me. First, it strikes me as unlikely that someone local has arisen among the rural farmers and miners who is skilled in military tactics against trained soldiers. Even with the access you've given them to the internet, those aren't skills that anyone would have been likely to pick up."

"You are suggesting that an outsider is leading them," Hadji said flatly. "To what purpose?"

"The second thing that strikes me is that after their experiences with the Janissaries, the people are going to be highly suspicious of _any_ outsider. Whoever is leading these people must have some pretty powerful credentials to generate that kind of loyalty. And lastly, if the rumors are to be believed, the new leader is coming down out of Panjal Province."

Hadji expression suddenly stilled and he whispered hoarsely, "Kefira!"

Jonny nodded. "And Jessie. That's my guess. We've said all along that it was only a matter of time before they'd follow us. Your marriage is common knowledge now . . . everyone is talking about it. There's only one place that could have come from . . . Jessie and Kefira have announced it, probably to put pressure on Birla. And your wife . . . the daughter of Rajeev Subramanian, a man who's practically become a national hero . . . yeah, I'd say she'd command that kind of fanatical devotion. And she may not know military tactics, but Jess sure does. I'd take odds that's who's leading the armies of Bangalore right now."

"We must get out of here!"

Jonny glanced at his watch, and then nodded, "And in about 47 minutes, that's exactly what we're going to do. How mobile are you? Can you walk?"

"Yes," Hadji said grimly, bracing a hand against the wall and gathering his feet under him. With Jonny's help, he stood carefully. He waited for a moment, assessing how he felt, and then said, "It is not bad. Some pain, but not overpowering. And I feel steady on my feet."

"Good. We're lucky the knife didn't get anything vital. Let's get you something to eat." Jonny led the way back out to the main room as he continued. "Everyone should start converging back here in the next 20 minutes or so and the diversion I've got rigged is set to begin at midnight. When it starts, we're going straight out the back door."

"We would be better off going over the wall," Hadji commented, accepting a thick slice of bread and some cheese from his mother. Then he eased himself down to sit on one of the decrepit divans.

"Yeah, but you can't climb and neither can many of the others we need to get out of here," Jonny replied as he passed Hadji a water jug. "Don't worry. The distraction I've got set up will draw their attention, and any remaining resistance left at the door I should be able to handle."

Hadji's eyes drifted around the room and then came to rest on the dungeon guard they had brought with them. He sat on the floor on the far side of the room, his hands and feet carefully bound. "What about him?" Hadji asked.

Jonny shrugged. "That one's gotta be your call. Opinion is pretty divided on what to do with him. No one trusts him, but I'll say this much . . . he hasn't given us any trouble and he even offered us some information that helped us keep track of some of the more dangerous members of the Janissaries."

Hadji contemplated the man in silence while he ate. When he finished, he stood carefully again and said to the others, "Wait here." Then he crossed the room to the captive. The man looked up and then, seeing who it was, ducked his head in obeisance. "What is your name?" Hadji asked him quietly.

"Anil Thakur, Excellency."

"Where do you come from?"

"From a village in the south called Cushul. It is very small and unimportant."

"I know it."

That man looked at him in surprise. "You do? But - but why, Excellency? There is nothing of importance there. The village, it is very poor. We have nothing of value . . ."

"You have people, Mr. Thakur, and they are the greatest value of all. I have been to Cushul, where I spoke with Elder Goel about the need for a school in the region and about the possibility of putting it in your village."

The man stared at him dumbfounded. "I - I did not know that."

"When you spoke to me in the dungeon, you said that you had a wife and children. Where are they?"

"My . . . my wife and daughter are with her family in a village near Cushul. I . . . I . . ." Suddenly, a remarkable change came over the man, as he seemed to shrink in on himself. "We lived there until the Janissaries came. They . . . they stole anything of value and burnt what was left. And they . . . they . . ." The man stopped, as if unable to go on.

Hadji knelt beside him carefully and laid a hand on his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jonny rise and move toward them defensively. "What did they do, Mr. Thakur?" he encouraged him gently.

The man raised his head and stared at Hadji. "It . . . it was the Captain, Excellency . . . the man who is the leader of the Janissaries. He took my son! He was only four years old! He took him away and I could do nothing to stop him." The man buried his face in his hands. "My wife was hysterical. We . . . we had lost two . . . before . . . before Amol was born, and my wife can have no more. And they took him . . ." His head snapped up once more and he looked at Hadji desperately, "I did not know what to do. I had to find him. I have no family . . . they all died before you returned to Bangalore, so there was no one to care for my wife and daughter. I had no choice. I accepted the dishonor and returned them to my wife's family. I begged my wife's father to keep them safe, and then I went after the man who had taken my son. I - I followed him to Bangalore City, where I learned just how powerful of a man he is. After several days, I managed to become acquainted with a man who worked in the palace and he found me a job there. I was a stonemason by trade back in Cushul so I am large and strong and in time they assigned me to work in the dungeons . . . for the Black One." The man's eyes glittered as he stared at Hadji. "Never would I have believed it if I had not seen it for myself, Excellency. I had come to believe that no man could best that one. But you did! And then you took the captives out of the dungeon right under their noses!"

A smiled flickered briefly on Hadji's face. "With a great deal of luck, Mr. Thakur."

The man's eyes flicked over Hadji's shoulder briefly and then focused on him again. "They say you name that one your brother."

"Yes."

Thakur looked at Jonny once more. "Not by blood."

"It makes no difference. He is as close to me as blood kin and always will be."

"It was him you sought to free, then."

"Him and the others with him. They have been loyal to me. I do not leave my friends behind." Hadji contemplated the man for a long moment. "Can I trust you, Mr. Thakur? If I were to set you free, would you follow me and not betray me and my people to our enemies?"

"I have no love for the Janissaries, Excellency. This I swear."

Hadji eyed him for a moment longer and then nodded once. Reaching back with one hand, he said quietly to Jonny, "Give me your knife." Jonny placed the hilt of it into his hand, and turning the blade, Hadji sliced cleanly through the ropes that held the man captive. Then he returned the blade to his brother and rose awkwardly to his feet once more as Thakur did the same. "Then this I will promise you, Mr. Thakur. Follow me now, help me in the fight against Mr. Birla and his Janissaries, and when this is over, I will do everything in my power to locate your son and return him to you. Do I have your word?"

"Yes," the man whispered. "Yes, Excellency, I swear . . . I will follow you, even to my own death!" The man would have gone to his knees, but Hadji stopped him, grasping his forearm tightly instead.

"It is a pledge between us." Then he smiled at the man. "And I would appreciate it if you would make it a point to stay alive, Mr. Thakur. I believe your wife and children would prefer you return to them living rather than dead." When Hadji turned back, he found himself face-to-face with all of the others, who had returned silently during his conversation with the captive. "You have heard," he said to them. "I would ask all of you to make him welcome and to keep your eyes and ears open. It is possible the children that have been abducted by the Janissaries are no longer in the country. If this is so, then we must find out where they have been taken. I want to know of anything you hear, no matter how small." They all nodded silently.

"Good," Jonny said briskly. "Since that's settled, I think we probably need to get into place. The fireworks will start soon and we want to be ready." He bowed respectfully to Neela. "Lady, if you would be good enough to lead the way, I'll grab our supplies and bring up the rear."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


"You still have not told me what you have planned," Hadji said softly to Jonny some time later. The ten of them now waited silently in the darkness near the access door that opened into the passageway to the old tradesman's entrance to the palace. It was five minutes to midnight.

"I made use of some of the stuff that Jess got from Jean-Paul."

"The explosives? Is that what you meant by fireworks?"

"Yeah. I spent the day slipping in and out of various rooms in the palace planting it. The first couple of explosions are set to go at midnight. Then there will be a series of others in three to five minute increments along a path that leads toward the front entrance to the palace. They'll blow locked doors, as if we're trying to make our way to the front and out the main gate."

"I am not certain that Mr. Birla will be so easily fooled."

"I'm banking on him being too flustered by the first couple of blasts to be thinking clearly."

"Why?"

"Because they're gonna blow the hell out of his private office, the Council chambers, and his private apartment." Jonny heard the sharp hiss of indrawn breath and added in a soft, cold tone, "And if I manage to take Birla out in one of the blasts, I'm not gonna lose any sleep over it, either."

After a long moment, Hadji said softly, "No - no, you are right. It would probably simplify things and there would be a great deal less bloodshed."

"Yeah, but we can't depend on it. That's why we're not going to wait around to see if it worked."

Suddenly, under their feet, the very stone of the palace seemed to tremble. The vibration had just begun to recede when it intensified again and this time, sound came with it . . . a deep, angry rumble. Through the eavesdropping panel, all of them could hear the sudden sound of raised voices, and then one came through clearly, saying, "Stay here and guard the door. I will see what is going on."

Jonny held up his hand, holding everyone in place. They waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then, the ground shuddered again, this time seeming further away. Again, the voices rose and four men moved into view of the hidden panel. There was one more tremor then a distant voice called, "They have attempted to kill Mr. Birla and now they are heading for the front gate!" Immediately, the four men disappeared up the corridor at a run, leaving only silence behind them. They continued to wait and finally, after the stillness had remained undisturbed for several minutes, Jonny tapped Hadji on the shoulder and he tripped the mechanism to open the door. Jonny eased out cautiously and peered around. They were alone. Gesturing to the others, he led the way to the back door. As he reached for the bolt, Hadji stopped him.

"What about perimeter guards outside?" he hissed.

Jonny shrugged helplessly. "We can only hope they were drawn off as well. There's no way to check."

Before Hadji could answer, Thakur stepped up. "Excellency, allow me to do to this. I wear the livery of the palace guard. If there are ones waiting, I may be able to get rid of them."

The silence was tense as Hadji stared at the man. Then the nodded and gestured the others back. "Have a care, my friend. The Janissaries do not take kindly to traitors and will kill you without hesitation if they do not believe you are what you claim."

The man grinned briefly. "I believe, Excellency, that I am very aware of what the Janissaries are capable of. I have set myself the task of seeing that you are kept safe from them, and that is what I shall do. Do not fear." Then gesturing them back once more, he turned, drew back the bolt, threw open the door, and stepped boldly out into the night.

"Brothers! I have orders from the Captain!" From their vantage point out of sight of the door, the waiting men heard the murmur of voices. One rose above the others.

"Who are you? Where is Amzel?"

"I am the lowliest of the low. I was sent to relieve those with more skills so that they may aid in the chase."

"What chase?" the voice demanded.

"The Hidden Demons have surfaced," Thakur told him. "They have attacked Mr. Birla himself and now attempt to free themselves from the palace. They are making for the front gate, destroying as they go." As if to support his statement, another explosion shook the palace. This time, it seemed to come from very near the front gate. "Go quickly! The Captain has ordered that all guards make for that location. He says that if they escape, those that permit it will pay with their lives!" Voices rose and the sound of running feet could be heard quickly moving away. But when Vijay would have stepped out into the open, Hadji held him back. Thakur had not moved.

"Wait! Something is not right," that voice said again. "Do not move." They heard footsteps, as if the man was circling Thakur. "You are of the dungeon guard. They would not send one such as you to guard an entrance to the palace. It is a trick!" Suddenly, Thakur was gone from the doorway and they all heard the clash of steel on steel. Jonny and Hadji leaped forward immediately, bursting into the open to find four men bearing down on their new friend. Thakur held a sword that had obviously been taken from a fifth man, who lay prostrate on the ground. He faced an opponent who also held a sword in one hand and a knife in the other, while the remaining three men tried to find a way to come at him from behind. Jonny hit the closest one from behind like a battering ram, sending him careening into one of the others, while Hadji struck the third with a savage leg kick that flung the guard against the nearby rocks. Without hesitation, Hadji bent down and grabbed the knife of the fallen guard. Then he turned to face the first man Jonny had struck, who was back on his feet again.

Jonny went down hard as the second guard knocked his feet out from under him. The man bore down on him with a knife, but Jonny caught his arm and used his own momentum to toss the man over his head. As he rolled to his feet and turned to his opponent once more, he called to Vijay and the others, "Go! NOW!" After an instant's hesitation, Vijay turned and led the others into the darkness at a run, making for the grove of trees that marked the start of the Pilgrim's Trail. As Jonny circled his opponent, who was now on his feet once more, he spotted Hadji. The young Sultan and his opponent circled each other warily, both holding knives.

"Shit! Not again!" Without hesitation, Jonny dove at his adversary, coming in under his opponent's knife hand. Grabbing the man's wrist with his left hand, he slammed a right to the man's jaw, then twisted, forcing the man's knife hand behind his back. Before the man could recover, Jonny pivoted and used the weight of his own body to swing his opponent into Hadji's attacker just as the man lunged. The man's knife buried itself into his fellow guardsman. Before the startled attacker had the chance to recover, Jonny snatched the knife from his wounded adversary and sank it deeply into the other man's back. With a gasp, the man toppled, taking his fellow guardsman's down with him.

"Are you nuts?!" Jonny yelled at his brother, who was already turning to aid Thakur. "Get out of here!" But Hadji didn't move. Rather, he waited calmly. As Thakur parried a downward slash of the sword, he pivoted and his opponent moved with him. Without hesitation, Hadji flipped the knife he held, grasping it by the blade, and threw it deftly. It struck the guard in the side, burying itself to the hilt. At the same time, Thakur struck, slicing deeply into his opponent's sword arm. The blade fell to the ground as the man sagged to his knees. Before the man could fall, Thakur stepped up and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head up so he stared directly at Hadji.

"Look, you dog, upon the _rightful_ ruler of Bangalore. He will see you all dead, just as he took vengeance upon the Black One that tormented his Lady Mother for so many years. I watched as he took the life from that one, and I will watch with burning joy as he guts all who defy him. The House of Singh rises again, just as it was foretold. You tell your worthless masters that their days are numbered."

For an instant, the stunned guard stared up at Hadji. Then Thakur cast him away like a useless rag. "It is time to go, Excellency. There are other things which require your attention." And then, the three of them disappeared into the night. 

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
**"Are you totally out of your mind?!?"** Jonny demanded, rounding on his brother in fury. 

"Do not start!" Hadji snarled in return, leaning against a nearby tree in exhaustion. "I do not want to hear it." All ten of them had made it safely out of the palace and were now high in the hills above the city. For over an hour they had traveled in silence, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and any possible pursuers. It wasn't until they were finally certain that they had eluded pursuit that Jonny had given vent to the combination of anger and fear that had been churning in him since their confrontation with the guards at the back gate.

"It's one thing to take on a fight when you're in good condition, but to go after that guy with a knife when the wounds from the last confrontation haven't even started to close up yet? What the hell were you _thinking???"_

The moonlight cast eerie shadows over them as the others stared at the two brothers in consternation.

"He came at me with a knife. What did you expect me to do? Run?"

"You're damned right I expected you to run!"

"I have never run from a fight in my life!"

"Whatever happened to that old adage you used to quote to me all the time about living to fight another day?"

"That was when _both_ of us were running. I did not see you turning to leave!"

"That's different! I'm here to cover your back. What happens to me doesn't mean a thing, but it matters a lot what happens to you!"

**"YOU ARE NOT EXPENDABLE!"**

Before things could go any further, Neela stepped between the two young men. Laying a hand on each of their arms, she said quietly, "That is enough. Neither of you are expendable, nor will I see one brother sacrificed to save the other. Are we clear on this?"

Hadji fought to bring his anger under control. Finally, he replied, "Yes, Mother."

"Jonathan?"

Jonny let out a gusty sigh and said, "Okay, yeah. I got it." Then he added gruffly, "I suppose you popped half of your stitches during that little altercation."

Hadji twisted gently and then grimaced in the dark. "No, I do not believe so."

"Like I'm gonna take your word for it. Come on over here. I wanna take a look at you."

"We cannot afford to risk a light," Hadji protested.

"There's a cluster of rocks and trees over there that will provide enough cover for me to check it, and the others can keep an eye out for suspicious movement." He grabbed Hadji's arm and tugged him toward the rocks as he continued to grumble, "With all the blood you lost yesterday, you shouldn't even be out of bed."

"This from the one that fell off of a one hundred foot cliff, tore up a shoulder so badly it needed major surgery, and then took off on a cross country trip without even consulting a doctor."

"So did I suggest I should be held up as a shining example of sensible behavior?" Jonny countered as the two disappeared from view.

Vijay Patel moved to stand next to Neela and chuckled softly. "They are very alike, these two," he said to her.

"Yes, they are . . . more alike than I ever realized. And they care for each other so much. Truly, the Gods were smiling down on my son the day the Quests found him in Calcutta." She sighed softly. "It is no wonder it pains him so much to consider leaving all of it behind." She stared after them for a long moment and then asked softly, "Tell me, Mr. Patel, can he achieve what he hopes for? Can he truly establish a government that will stand and function without him?"

"He has planned well, Lady. There are both men and women throughout our country who have been groomed specifically for this. He has actively worked toward that goal since he first came to power. Also, the people themselves have a much better grasp of self-government than you give them credit for. I doubt that it will be easy but, yes, I believe it can be done."

She sighed softly once more. "For his sake, I hope that it can."

A few moments later, the two young men rejoined them and Jonny said, "Well, he'll live. He pulled a couple of stitches, but I'd put them in pretty closely and most of them held. He's bleeding a little, but I think it will stop. We need to find somewhere to light, though. He needs rest."

"Light?" Mahavir asked, confused.

"A place to stop and rest," Hadji translated with a soft laugh. "And I am all right. I can continue."

"Not for very long, you can't," Jonny retorted grimly.

"You are getting to be as bad as Father . . . maybe even worse. At least he knows when to give up."

"He's not as stubborn as I am."

Hadji snorted, but privately he admitted that he wasn't certain how much longer he could continue. Adrenalin had taken him through the fight and the subsequent run from the palace. But now the sharp pain in his side was starting to take its toll and he was beginning to feel tired and shaky.

Vijay hesitated for a moment and then said, "If it is possible for you to continue, Excellency, it might be wise if we do so. You said that you wished to recruit an army. My brother, Mahavir's father, is well thought of by the people of Bangalore City and is a long-time ally of those that support you and your reign. He keeps a place . . ." he hesitated, as if searching for the proper term. "A place where he can hide people . . . "

"A safehouse," Jonny supplied promptly.

"Yes! A safehouse . . . where we can go and be assured of safety. Also, it will serve as a base where we can recruit the men and plan for ways to stop Mr. Birla"

"How far is this place?" Jonny asked.

"We must go a bit further to the east and then down the mountain once more. Once back in the city, it is perhaps another mile or so back toward the center of the old district. We will need to find a change of clothing so that we are assured of not being recognized."

There was a short silence and then Jonny asked, "Can you make that, Hadj?"

"I can try," he replied, and none of them missed the sound of exhaustion in his voice.

"We will take it in small stages and rest in between," Neela said. "You are to tell us when you become too tired and we will stop. Do you understand, my son?"

"Yes, Mother."

Jonny immediately stepped up and caught Hadji's good arm and drew it across his shoulder. "Come on, we'll take it slow."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
"_**GONE???**_ What do you mean, _**GONE???"**_ Birla demanded in a voice edged with panic. 

The Captain of the Guard relaxed lazily on a divan near the window and looked at the man with a sardonic expression. "As I said, Excellency. They are gone . . . the Sultan, his mother, and the Patels. The bombings in the palace were a diversion. While everyone was distracted, they took out the guards at the postern door and escaped into the countryside."

"How is this possible?"

The Captain shrugged. "The blasts were very carefully planned to maximize the confusion and to lead people to believe they were attempting to leave by the front entrance."

"Your people are supposed to be professionals," Birla snarled. "Why were they so easily fooled?"

"Why?" the Captain replied sarcastically. "I believe, Excellency, that you should ask yourself that question. You insisted that my men be directed to accept orders from you as well as from my lieutenants and myself. Had you allowed my men to do their jobs, this probably would not have happened. Instead, you directed them here and there at your own whims and now they are gone."

"You are certain?" the man demanded, pacing restlessly around the throne room.

"Yes. The Sultan was seen. In fact, he made it a point to be seen. They even sent you a message."

Birla whirled and stared at the man. "What message?"

The Captain smiled lazily once again. "He reminds you of the prophecy, Excellency. _The House of Singh rises once more."_

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
"Jonny . . . Jonny, I cannot . . ." 

"That's okay, Hadj. Take it easy," Jonny replied as he eased his brother gently to the ground. He looked up and shook his head. "He can't go any further."

Neela knelt down beside him, eased Hadji's head onto her lap, and laid a gentle hand on the side of his face. "He is hot . . . starting to run a fever."

" . . . sorry . . ." Hadji whispered softly.

"It was well done, Excellency," Vijay said going to one knee beside him. "It is far enough. This grove of trees will shelter you and we are now near enough to one of the roads into the city that we can bring a cart. You must rest now. In the meantime, Mahavir and I will go ahead and make arrangements." He rose and looked at Jonny. "As much as I would like having you with me, I believe it would be better if you remain here. We have no good garments to disguise you and you are too recognizable." He glanced up at the sky with a calculating look. "It is about two hours before dawn. We should be able to get there and return before daybreak. Once we arrive we can put the Sultan on the cart and join the regular traffic going into and out of the city. If we are cautious, we should be able to return to the house of my brother unremarked." He gestured to the others. "The rest of you, scatter out on the hillside. Keep to cover and watch carefully for any sign of pursuit. Report anything out of the ordinary to the Sultan's brother." With a murmured acknowledgement, the six members of Patel's staff faded away into the darkness. Then Vijay looked at Anil Thakur.

"I will remain here," Thakur said, looking at Vijay calmly. "I have pledged myself to the Sultan . . . to assure that he and his family are safe. No harm will come to them as long as I live."

"Good enough. We will go now, Excellency, and return as quickly as we can." Hadji nodded as best he could as Jonny shook out one of the blankets they had brought with them and wrapped it around him. Vijay sketched a quick bow and then the two of them disappeared into the night.

"I think we need to find a slightly better place than this if we're going to stay here for a while," Jonny said. "There's a hollow over there with a slight depression. It will provide some shelter from the breeze that kicks up just before dawn. Anil, in the bundle that Mahavir was carrying is the sleeping mat and a couple more blankets. Can you set up a makeshift bed for him over there?" Then Jonny looked at Neela. "Once we get him settled, I'm going to hit him with some more penicillin. I don't like it that he's so hot."

"I believe that is a good idea," Neela agreed, "although I suspect it is due more to pushing too hard while in a weakened condition than it is to infection."

"Probably, but I'd rather be safe than sorry." Jonny looked up as Thakur returned. "Ready? Okay, Anil, you take his feet . . ."

"I can walk that far," Hadji protested weakly.

"Shut up," Jonny replied rudely, then caught him by the shoulders. "Ready? Go!" The two men lifted Hadji and carried him quickly over to the makeshift bed. Laying him down gently, Jonny took the rolled up rug that they had been using as a pillow and eased it under his head. Then he turned and gestured to Thakur again. "Hand me that bag over there." Jonny rummaged around in it for a moment and then pulled out the two medicine bottles and the box containing the syringes. "Hang on, I need light for this." Jonny filled the syringe quickly and administered the drug. Then he leaned down and said, "Hadji, are you still with us?"

"Yes," he replied faintly.

"Are you in pain?"

"It is all right."

"That's not the question I asked you. Are you in pain?"

"Yes," Hadji finally admitted reluctantly.

Jonny straightened and reached for the morphine bottle. "I'm not going to give him much of this or we'll put him out for hours again," he said to Neela, "but the pain is dragging at his system, wearing down his body's stamina. I think that knocking it down for a while will give his system a chance to rest and recover." Swiftly, he administered the second drug, cleaned and put away the equipment, and killed the light. Then he laid one hand on Hadji's shoulder and said quietly, "Now you need to rest. Sleep if you can. We can't do anything else but wait."

"All right."

"You should do the same," Thakur said to Jonny and Neela. "You need not fear. I will keep watch."

Jonny leaned back against the trunk of a tree beside Hadji as Neela lay down not far away. Then, silence fell and for a long time the only things audible were the sounds of the night animals and their own breath. Jonny could hear Neela's breathing deepen and even out as she dropped off to sleep. He was just starting to feel drowsy when he felt Hadji stir restlessly beside him. Reaching down, Jonny laid a hand on his Hadji's forehead. It felt a bit cooler, but it was still too warm.

"Do you suppose it really is them?" Hadji asked fretfully.

"You're supposed to be resting. Them who?"

"Kefira . . . and Jessie. Do you really think they are the ones uniting the people into an army?"

"Yes."

"She should not be here. She will be hurt."

"You can't make those choices for her. I've told you that before."

"But she was injured."

"So are you, and you're here."

"It is different for me. I must be here. I have no choice."

"And this is her country. She has even more ties to it than you do."

"Not any longer," Hadji said bitterly, and Jonny privately kicked himself for obliquely bringing up Kefira's family. "I wonder how much she will hate me when we finally meet again."

"Hate you?! She won't hate you. What are you talking about?"

"Because of me, her family was murdered. How else could she feel?"

"That's crazy. Listen, knowing Rajeev as you did, do you really believe that he wouldn't have stood up against any despot, whether you were here or not?"

"Perhaps. But if I had not chosen Kefira to be my wife, attention would not have focused on him the way it did. Furthermore, it was my programs . . . my changes that Rajeev supported that brought him into direct conflict with Arun Birla. Any way you choose to look at it, it was because of me that he and his family were killed. Kefira is no fool. She will see that as clearly as I do."

"What she'll see is that her father was a man of integrity who stood up and fought for what he believed in. Yes, that put him in direct conflict with Birla. But what you gave him, Hadji . . . what you've given all of them . . . is a dream that they could strive for . . . a chance for a better life, not for just a select few, but for everyone. Look around you. Do you honestly believe that the people of this country would fight this way if they didn't understand and _want_ what you're offering them? You can't take the weight of the world onto your shoulders, Hadj. Every man is ultimately responsible for his own decisions and their consequences. Yes, people are dying, but you haven't demanded that anyone fight. They are choosing to do it of their own free will. Don't belittle their courage and dedication by doubting that what you're doing is right." He smiled in the dark. "As for Kefira? You seem to be forgetting one very important thing."

"What?"

"She loves you."

"Yes, but will she still when this is all over?"

"Yes," Jonny replied with quiet conviction.

"You sound so certain."

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because I've seen the way she looks at you. And you'd see it too, if you'd just let yourself look beyond your own self-imposed guilt. Now would you please try to get some sleep? You really do need the rest."

Silence fell between them again, but Jonny could sense Hadji's continuing restlessness. Finally, Jonny sighed and said, "Something else is bothering you. What is it?"

"I was wondering about Father. Do you suppose he is all right?"

Jonny frowned. "What started you thinking about Dad?"

Hadji stirred restlessly again. "I do not know. I just have this feeling . . ."

Jonny shifted uneasily, reluctant to tell his brother that the same thought had been gnawing at him for the last several days. "I'm sure he's fine," he replied with a confidence he didn't feel. "Dr. Mason is taking care of him and she won't let anything bad happen to him."

"She is in love with him, you know."

"Yeah, I know. How he doesn't see it is beyond me."

"Perhaps he does and just doesn't feel the same way."

"Naw. He just doesn't see it. That's our father . . . totally clueless when it comes to women."

"Yes, I think you are right. We do not dare interfere, though."

"Yeah, I know. I just hope he realizes what's going on before it's too late. I'd hate to see him lose her simply because he's too blind to see what's right in front of his face."

"I agree." Hadji grunted as he rolled over onto his back. "The two of you fought right before we left." He made it a statement.

"Yeah, we did," Jonny agreed reluctantly. "It all ended on a pretty sour note. How did you know?"

"Kefira told me. She is worried about you. What was it this time?"

"You're supposed to be resting."

"Do not try to change the subject. What did you fight about?"

"The same old stuff . . . school. How did Kefira know about it?"

"Jessie told her."

"How did _Jess_ know about it?"

There was the briefest hesitation before Hadji replied, "I do not know."

"Come on, Hadji, don't hold out on me. I sure didn't tell her. I don't like putting her in the middle between Race and me, so I try not to rant to her too much about it. She gets angry for me and that only makes things worse."

"Why would you feel that your arguments with Father would put Jessie in an awkward position with Race? He has never taken sides in this dispute."

"I know he's never said anything, but . . . "

Hadji reached out and laid his hand on his brother's arm. "Jonny, Race has _never_ voiced an opinion one way or the other about any of this, not even to me. Whatever his feelings in the matter, he has kept them to himself. Do you not understand how much he and Estella have suffered over this entire situation? Both you and Jessie have closed them out. They feel as though you are strangers and it hurts them a great deal."

"You think I don't realize that? But Hadji, I really don't know what to do. I don't know whom I can trust anymore."

"I know that you do not. How do you think I felt when I began to realize that you did not even trust _me_. Imagine how Race and Estella feel, knowing that their only child no longer trusts them." Jonny didn't reply. Finally, Hadji sighed. "I told you the truth. I do not know how Jessie found out about your fight with Father. Kefira would not tell me. All she would say was that the two of you fought again and that whatever had occurred had infuriated Jessie. So are you going to tell me what the fight was about?"

"I already told you. It was over school again."

"But there must have been more to it than that."

Jonny remained stubbornly silent for a long time, but when he realized that Hadji was just as likely to wait him out on it, he finally admitted, "He offered to get me admitted into M.I.T. if I would go back to school."

That was enough to cause Hadji to try to sit up. "He offered to get you admitted to M.I.T?" he demanded. "But that is what you have been insisting on all along!"

"Shhhh. Keep it down! And don't sit up. You're supposed to be resting."

Hadji eased himself back down again, but did not let the subject drop. "Tell me about this. Why, when you have won every concession that you looked for from Father, are the two of you still fighting? This does not make sense."

"You didn't hear him, Hadji. Yeah, he offered to get me admitted for Spring term . . . on the provision that I drop back to no more than 10 hours a week at my job. You know, it's not that I don't_ want_ to go on to school. I've talked to Dr. Rankin and Dr. Sikes about this stuff already. M.I.T. doesn't have an early admission program the way Columbia does. And they get very few dropouts. For me to go back on-campus as a full time student, which is what he wanted me to do, would not only mean violating fixed admissions standards, but also bouncing some poor schlep who's already enrolled to make room in the core curriculum classes for me. It would also mean that the timing for all of my other classes would be off by a semester as well! A lot of the courses I need are fall only or spring only and are designed to be taken in order. Without the prereqs, I'm screwed. And the only way to fix _that_ is to carry overloads every term and go full time during summer, too. With everything I've got to do at work right now, there's no way I can handle it. And . . ."

"Jonny," Hadji interrupted gently, "you are babbling. Take a deep breath and tell me what it is about it that truly upset you."

Jonny rubbed his face and thought again about his last argument with his father. Finally, he admitted wearily, "It . . . it was his attitude, I guess. You know, Hadj, I've worked really hard . . . trying to well at work, trying to balance my time with Jess with what it takes to do my job, to continue the things I think are really important, like our work with the Children's Outreach Program, to maintain the building we live in and help our neighbors. I won't lie and say that I haven't made some mistakes, but overall I think Jess and I have done pretty well for ourselves. But he's not prepared to give me any credit whatsoever. Do you know what he said to me? He said that it was 'nice' of Mr. Blackman to have given me a job, but that I had to realize I was little more than a charity case. He also said that the only reason I got it in the first place was because I was his son. I can still hear him . . . sounding all righteous and condescending . . . "

Hadji sighed softly, wondering if they would ever find a way to mend the rift between father and son.

"And you know what the really sorry part is?"

"What?"

"Ben Sikes and Garrett Blackman tell me the same thing . . . that they want me to go back to school . . . and the idea doesn't even rankle. But when my own father suggests it . . ." This time it was Jonny that sighed. "This isn't getting us anywhere. It's all old ground, and I don't even know why we're going over it again. Furthermore, you aren't getting any rest. So let's just drop it, okay? I really don't feel up to discussing it any more."

"Allow me ask one more question, and then I will let the matter go for now."

"What?"

"You said that Mr. Blackman and Dr. Sikes have asked you to go back to school."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to do it?"

"Probably. Mr. Blackman and I talked about it that night at the party and he explained the way it would work. Blackman Communications has an interactive classroom in the building and there are a bunch of people going to M.I.T. and taking classes that way. It's a special pilot program that the school has with our company. The curriculum and requirements are all the same as if I was attending class on campus, it's even all the same courses, it's just that we don't have to go to campus to attend and the program is structured a little differently for those of us that work full time."

"You would be carrying a full load _and_ working full time?" Hadji asked with concern, thinking of how pressured his brother was already feeling.

"Not exactly. Mr. Blackman says that school will be incorporated into my job description so the time I spend in class will be part of the formula used to determine my workload."

"It sounds as though Mr. Blackman has a great respect for the people that he employs."

"One of the corporate tenets is that the most valuable asset of the company is the people that work there, and from everything I've seen, they really do mean it. Do you know, I won't have to pay a dime to take classes? Tuition and fees are a fully paid company benefit as long as you are enrolled in a certified degree program applicable to your job and you maintain good standing grade-wise. Plus, they reimburse you for all related expenses like books, application fees, and all of that stuff. There's also employee assistance programs, a company-based credit union, a full gym in the building for employee use, on-site daycare centers, company sponsored community programs, and all sorts of other things. I'll tell ya, Hadji, someone up there was really looking out for Jess and me when I landed this job."

"I believe you are right, my friend. Are you going to tell Father about going back to school?"

Jonny was quiet for a long time. Finally, he said, "No. Maybe it's petty, but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. This isn't something he engineered. It's something I've found a way to do on my own. When I finish, I'll tell him, but he's not going to have the chance to take credit for it."

"Jonny . . ."

"No, Hadji. I mean it. I don't want him to know about this. If it turns out that I can't hack working full time _and_ going to school and I'm forced to choose between the two, I'll tell you right now that I'll choose my job. I love what I'm doing and I'm not going to give it up. But I'm also not gonna go through the misery of listening to him tell me 'I told you so' or be forced to endure an escalated harangue about quitting school. I don't need that crap."

Before Hadji could think of a response, Thakur materialized out of the darkness near them. "Excellency, Mr. Patel has returned sooner than expected with transportation. He says that if you feel able, it would be best if we move quickly so that we may be undercover before daybreak."

Hadji sat up regretfully, knowing that his window of opportunity to discuss talk with Jonny about the situation had just evaporated. "Go back to Mr. Patel and tell him we will join him shortly. Then return so you can guide us to his location. In the meantime, we will gather things here. What of the others?"

"Mr. Patel's nephew has been sent to them with instructions."

"Very good. Take my message to Mr. Patel and then return to us."

Thakur sketched a respectful bow, and replied, "As you command, Excellency." Then he turned and disappeared again.

Hadji reached out and laid a hand on Neela's knee. "Mother, are you awake?"

"Yes, my son."

"Can you go back to where we stopped earlier and make certain we left nothing behind? Jonny and I will take care of the things here."

"Yes," she replied and left quickly.

"I wonder how long she was awake," Jonny said in a low voice, sounding uneasy. "Do not worry, Jonny. What my mother hears, she does not repeat. Let us go. I truly do need to sleep for a while and I believe I will find it easier to do if I am not out in the open."

"Then let's get going so you can do just that."

  
  
  


To Be Continued . . .


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter Forty-seven**

  


Jessie gritted her teeth and clung grimly to the door handle of the large dump truck in which she rode. Her feet were braced against the floorboards of the vehicle and she did the best she could to cling to the edge of the passenger seat with her other hand. Despite her best efforts, her head smacked the roof of the cab sharply as the truck hit another pothole. She wished fervently for a seatbelt.

"It would be better if we arrived all in one piece," she said to her companion.

Kefira jerked the wheel sharply to the left and then back to the right, causing Jessie to bounce off of the passenger door with a thump. "Do not worry," Kefira said cheerfully, "I have driven these roads many times. I have seen them much worse than they are today." She took the sharp curve in the road without so much as easing off of the gas. Jessie could feel the vehicle's wheels skitter in the loose gravel.

Jessie glanced in the side mirror desperately and then said, "We really shouldn't get too far ahead of the others . . ."

"Oh, Mr. Kumar will catch up soon enough. He has always driven this road much slower than is necessary."

Another pothole coupled with a series of S bends prevented Jessie from replying to that comment. She was beginning to understand Mr. Kumar's look of horror when Kefira had announced that she intended to drive the lead vehicle. There was no doubt that her new sister drove with a certain _joie de vivre_. Up ahead, Jessie spotted a crossroads. Planting her hand firmly on the roof of the cab, Jessie braced herself for the turn, but Kefira blew through the intersection without even slackening her pace. With a loud grinding of gears and a final violent thump, the truck hit pavement and Kefira ruthlessly applied the gas.

"Hey, I thought we were supposed to turn back there!" Jessie exclaimed. "Mr. Kumar said . . . "

"I know what Mr. Kumar said," Kefira replied, all trace of laughter now gone. "But I do not intend to go by the site of my parents' home. It is a waste of time."

"Kefira, he only wanted for you to . . ."

"I know what he wanted," she snapped, the sound of her anger ringing clearly in the enclosed space. "But my parents are dead. Standing beside the ashes of their bier being the grieving daughter serves no purpose. I cannot help it if Mr. Kumar is shocked that I do not choose to play this role. He will simply have to adjust to it."

"But . . ."

"I left that life behind when I made the decision to marry. It is Hadji and his goals I must concern myself with now." Jessie saw Kefira glance in the rearview mirror and then nod in satisfaction. "He has seen us and is following. If we keep up this pace, we should reach the foothills that border the plain where the munitions warehouse sits before lunchtime."

Jessie simply nodded and remained silent. Kefira had been strung tighter than a piano wire ever since Mr. Kumar had voiced his intention of leading the convoy out of the mountains and onto Subramanian lands. He had told Kefira that it was the logical thing to do since he was sure there were villagers hiding in the area that should be gathered into their group. Initially, Kefira hadn't said much, but when Mr. Kumar informed her a short time later that he also intended to take her to the site of her parents' burial, she had balked. Jessie wasn't entirely sure whether the reaction was a response to the man's flat statement that she would visit her parent's grave or to an innate dread of seeing the place where they had died, but whatever it was, the disagreement had been loud and acrimonious. It had ended abruptly with Kefira's sharp command for silence, after which she turned and stalked away in fury. A short time later, she commandeered the lead truck and announced her intention of driving. She was up into the truck and moving almost before Jessie could scramble in after her. Thank god the truck was only carrying supplies.

For a long time, the two rode in silence. Finally, Jessie said quietly, "You wanna talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever is bugging you."

"There is nothing 'bugging' me."

"You can lie to anyone else you want to, but don't start it with me," Jessie replied sharply. "If you don't want to talk about it, then say so. But don't lie."

Kefira stared straight ahead, her mouth compressed into a hard, uncompromising line. "Fine. I do not wish to discuss it."

"Fine." The silence between them was strained. 

Eventually, Kefira sighed. "Please, Jessie. I - I just have too much to think about right now. I simply cannot deal with anything else . . ."

"That's okay," Jessie replied, relaxing slightly. "I understand. Just know that I'm hear to listen when you need to talk."

"Thank you." Kefira gazed silently out the front window for a bit longer and then asked quietly, "What do you have planned when we reach the warehouse?"

Jessie shook her head. "I really don't know. It will depend on what we find when we get there. I'd like to believe that we could take it with as little loss of life as we did the mine, but I think that's hoping for too much. By this time, the Janissaries are bound to know something is up and unless they're really stupid, they're going to be ready for us this time. What can you tell me about the building and grounds of the place we're heading for?"

"Well, the building dates to the era of Queen Victoria. As I recall, a younger son of a British nobleman by the name of Lord Princeton built it sometime around 1850 as a residence and the main center of a plantation. As the story goes, Lord Princeton and his son did not get along very well and the young man had decided to get as far away from his father as he possibly could. He had brothers in the British Army based in India and decided to come here. But he had no more wish to be around his brothers than he did his father, so he journeyed from lowland India and ended up in Bangalore. The Sultan at the time . . . Hadji's great grandfather or great, great grandfather, I do not remember precisely . . . gave the young man permission to build there with the understanding that he would pay the Sultan an annual fee for use of the land. Mr. Princeton's intention was to raise cotton, pay the Sultan his lease fee out of the profits he expected to reap from selling the fiber to the mills in India, and become wealthy."

Jessie stared at her. "On cotton? Here? I didn't think agriculture was one of your mainstays. And how was he going to get it to the fabric mills in Calcutta and Bombay?"

Kefira grinned. "I did not say he was a _smart_ British nobleman. The building sits at the base of the mountain foothills at one end of a large, flat plain . . . one of the few in the entire country. But it did not help him. We are at a high elevation, our growing seasons are short, and the soil is not well suited for agriculture. I would imagine that the Sultan knew he would fail, which was why he allowed the man to build there to begin with."

"Got himself a free residence out of the deal?"

"I believe that was the idea. When Mr. Princeton finally gave up and went home, the Sultan claimed the residence and used it as a retreat from the city. Both he and his son built onto it in succeeding years."

"So it's not small."

"No. The residence itself is constructed of stone and there is a high stone wall all the way around it. It's laid out like a British castle with several levels, turrets, and ramparts."

"How very medieval. Does it have a moat?" Jessie asked dryly.

"A moat?"

"Never mind. The thing must stick out like a sore thumb."

Kefira grinned slightly. "Yes, it does," she conceded.

"Well, it certainly limits our options for getting in." She frowned thoughtfully and finally shook her head. "I don't like it, but we may end up having to use the missile launcher again. If they're prepared for us, they're going to have the place shut up and be rigged for a siege. The missile launcher may be the only way of breaching the outer wall."

"Must we get into it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I see no strategic value in holding the castle. If we can eliminate it as a threat in the short term, then our goal of eliminating Birla will remove the later threat at the castle. Mercenaries hold the castle . . . lock them inside where they cannot come to the aid of their fellows, eliminate the stockpile of weapons if possible, and then allow them to remain where they are."

Jessie contemplated that idea thoughtfully. "It has merit," she said slowly, "but it's also very dangerous. It's possible that we won't be able to eliminate the weapons stockpile without taking the castle. If we leave them secure in the castle with an exterior guard and move on to Bangalore City, and then they manage to defeat their guard, we could end up caught between two strong forces."

"But we have much greater numbers . . ."

"Virtually all of them untrained. If that scenario played out, we'd be caught between two highly trained combat forces with generations of experience in exactly this type of warfare. It's not good odds, Kefira."

"I suppose not."

Jessie shook her head. "There's no point in speculating. We need to wait and see what we have when we get there."

Kefira nodded in agreement and they drove on in silence.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


It was nearing four o'clock the following day by the time Jessie, Kefira and Mr. Kumar found themselves crouched in the tangled brush about 1/2 mile above the storehouse. Jessie raked the building and grounds from one end to the other with field glasses while the two with her waited impatiently. Several yards behind them, the original group leaders crouched, waiting for directions.

Since their departure from the mine the preceding day, the number of people that traveled with them had more than tripled. Jessie had been correct . . . word had spread rapidly. Everyone they met asked eagerly if their group was that of the "Army of the Sultana". Without exception, they had clamored to join them, swelling their ranks to the point where they no longer had excess space in any of the vehicles and many traveled on foot behind the caravan. Kefira had willingly accepted anyone that wanted to come, drawing the line at women with small children and anyone under the age of 14. But even those people were given tasks, so in the end everyone seemed to feel they were contributing.

While the growing numbers were reassuring in terms of manpower available to fight, it had slowed their progress drastically. They had been forced to make regular stops along the way to provide rest for those on foot and that clung tenaciously to the roofs and sides of the vehicles, and getting going again seemed to take forever. Whenever they stopped, the people poured from the vehicles in the hope of seeing or talking with their new Sultana. Kefira moved through the crowds, speaking with everyone she could. Most often, what she heard were stories of murdered family members, missing children, burnt homes, and total devastation. Kefira listened sympathetically and spoke words of encouragement in the face of the grief and desolation, and the people responded to her immediately. She had literally gone from unknown to worshipped in the course of a few short days. 

Through it all, Jessie was her constant shadow, always there and prepared to defend her. One incident around midday made Jessie very thankful she was, too. It was shortly after noon and Kefira had called a halt for rest and a meal. As usual, she was talking with the throngs of people that surrounded them. For some reason, Jessie had felt edgier than normal during this stop and she stuck close to Kefira. The single attacker struck from among the well-wishers. What it was about him that tripped Jessie's radar, she couldn't say, but her eyes were drawn irresistibly to him. He was moving almost before she had registered his presence, diving in low at Kefira with a wickedly sharp knife. Before anyone else even realized the danger, Jessie responded, intercepting the assassin before he could reach his target. People scrambled back, dragging Kefira with them as Jessie faced the man. He came at her, snarling in fury, his knife slashing at her belly with clear intent. She reacted without thinking, slipping clear of the blade and catching his arm in a smooth movement that left the man in front of her with his arm twisted up behind his back. He moved lithely, twisting away and putting space between them, but by then it was already too late. With a flick of her forearm, she shook the throwing knife in her right arm sheath loose and threw it with a snap of her wrist. The man dropped without a sound, the knife buried in his throat. The silence was complete as Jessie crossed the open space to her adversary. With one foot, she rolled him over onto his back, leaned over and freed her knife. After wiping it on the man's shirt, she straightened and scanned the crowd carefully. When she was satisfied, she returned the knife to its sheath and then turned to Kefira, who was carefully surrounded by a group of burly men. She bowed and said calmly, "It seems our enemies have heard of your arrival, Excellency. I believe it might be wise to begin posting guards." Kefira had moved out from behind her guards with admirable composure and agreed. From that time on, Jessie had acquired a new name. The people called her "Sultana's Sword". Jessie found it interesting that the name was always rendered in English, not Hindi, and supposed it marked her as an accepted outsider. It seemed _both_ of them were gaining a reputation.

The sudden sound of footsteps behind them caused all three to turn sharply. A group of men . . . some of the scouts she had sent out earlier, Jessie realized . . . advanced toward them. Jessie was on her feet and in front of Kefira almost immediately, her gun drawn. Mr. Kumar and two other men caught Kefira's arm, drawing her behind them, completely hiding her from view. 

In a low voice, Mr. Kumar called out, "What is it?"

The group of men split and Jessie saw a man being dragged along. One of the group leaders spoke up, "We found this one in the brush a short way from the encampment, sir. He is not from Bangalore."

Jessie's breath caught and she strode forward swiftly. The man hadn't received particularly gentle handling and he was barely conscious, hanging limply in the grip of two of his captors. She frowned at the men holding him.

"Was there a need to beat him?" she demanded sharply.

"This was not our doing, Lady. We found him lying in a ravine not far from here, looking much as you seen him."

Jessie caught his chin and lifted his head so she could see him clearly. Clouded hazel eyes stared at her dully from underneath a mop of curly brown hair that was liberally coated in dust. Streaks of blood marked his face and two black eyes, an angry bruise across his right cheek and a swollen lip testified to rough handling by someone. 

"Who are you?" she asked him. "What is your name?" He looked back at her uncomprehendingly.

_"C?mo se llama usted?"_ she tried again. Still nothing.

_"Comment vous appelez-vous?"_

Jessie shook his head gently and tried one last time, _"Aapka naam kya hai?"_

He blinked and some sense of awareness kindled. He frowned and replied haltingly, "W-who are . . . you?" He shook his head, wincing as he did so and added, "What did you say? I don't speak Arabic."

"That wasn't Arabic. It was Hindi. I want an answer. Who are you?"

The man got his feet under him and stood shakily. His captors allowed him to do so, but four sets of strong hands held him fast, providing both support and restraint. He wasn't a tall man, Jessie noted . . . around 5'10" or so, but he was strongly built with broad shoulders, a deep chest, and strong thick legs. He wore battered khaki shorts and the remnants of a shirt. A wealth of curly brown hair was visible on both his chest and legs. His feet were encased in sturdy, well-worn hiking boots. The few words he had uttered so far marked him as American.

"I'm a journalist," he replied. "Peter McCaffrey. I work for _Newsweek_."

"And what are you doing here?"

"What do you suppose? I'm working . . . . covering the story of the coup attempt. It's turning into big news. The rightful ruler of the country, who also holds U.S. citizenship, is missing, as is his mother, which is causing the U.S. to raise loud protests. The Indian government's choosing up sides against its neighbor and threatening reprisals if the Sultan isn't produced by the head of Bangalore's Advisory Council . . . the man who is reputed to be behind the coup attempt. The U.N.'s Commission on Human Rights is calling for inspectors, and the last I heard, there was supposed to be a vote of the Security Council last night to decide whether or not to send U.N. peacekeeping troops into Bangalore. This place is today's hot spot." He looked at Jessie speculatively. "So who are you?"

Jessie ignored his question, looking thoughtful. "That's a pretty abrupt escalation of foreign interest in a remarkably short time. Why?"

He shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. It's one of the reasons I'm here."

"Where did the questions about the Sultan start?"

"Why should I tell you? Maybe you're a rival journalist-" A sharp jerk on his arm and an angry growl from one of the men holding him stilled McCaffrey abruptly.

Jessie contemplated him in silence for a long moment. "You say you're from _Newsweek_. You have I.D. to prove that claim?"

He shook his head. "I did have, but they took it." He gestured toward the castle at the edge of the valley.

Jessie stepped forward and searched him carefully, coming up totally empty. After a moment's reflection, she gestured to his captors. "Let him go," she commanded quietly. The men released him obediently, but one of them returned a hand to his elbow as McCaffrey swayed unsteadily. Catching his eyes with her own, Jessie said, "Mr. McCaffrey, you are in the position to be able to get the story of a lifetime. But if you want it, you're going to have to cooperate with me and follow my orders. Are you prepared to do that?"

He looked around and then unsteadily moved to sit down on a nearby boulder. Looking back at Jessie again, he replied as evenly as he could, "That depends. I still don't know who you are."

"Who I am really doesn't matter. What's more important is who _she_ is." McCaffrey's eyes followed Jessie's gesture and widened as the group of men behind her stepped aside to reveal Kefira. "Mr. McCaffrey, may I present her Royal Highness, Kefira Singh, Sultana of the independent nation of Bangalore. Excellency, this is Peter McCaffrey, an American journalist with _Newsweek_ magazine."

Kefira bowed slightly in acknowledgement. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. McCaffrey. I wish it could have been under better circumstances."

"Sultana Singh!" McCaffrey tottered to his feet once more and attempted a bow. "Excellency, I am honored. I had no idea that you were here." Then he frowned in concern, sinking back onto the boulder again at her gesture. "It is not safe for you here, Excellency. Your enemies would give a great deal to get their hands on you, and those men are very close to this location."

Kefira smiled slightly. "Nonetheless, I am here, Mr. McCaffrey, and I do not intend to leave. I have business in the area that must be completed before I continue on to my destination."

McCaffrey hesitated. "If it's not impertinent, may I ask your destination?"

"I am traveling to Bangalore City to join my husband."

"The Sultan is in Bangalore City?" the man demanded, stiffening in concern.

"Yes."

"Excellency, this is not good news. Your enemies hold the city. If your husband is there . . ."

"Is there word that he has been taken?"

"Not that I've heard."

She smiled. "Then he is in Bangalore City and he is safe, and I must join him there." She gestured toward the structure that was hidden by the ridgeline. "Have you been to the castle, Mr. McCaffrey?"

Reluctantly, the man nodded. "Yes, I was their . . . guest . . . for a few days. Unfortunately, my co-worker is still there."

"You were held prisoner?" Jessie asked.

"Yes."

"What was . . ." Jessie began to ask, but Kefira interrupted her.

"Patience, sister. Our guest appears to have been ill-used. Let us return to the others and find him a place to rest. His story can as easily be shared over food and drink, which all of us need." She turned to one of the men near her. "Mr. Kumar, see that a guard is posted. We must be certain our enemies do not catch us sleeping."

Kumar bowed deeply. "It shall be as you order, Excellency. May I have the use of your Sword to ensure all is done appropriately?"

Kefira glanced at Jessie and nodded. "Go with him, sister. When you have finished, come to me so that we may plan our next move."

Jessie sketched a quick bow in acknowledgement and turned to follow Mr. Kumar toward the group of men that waited for them. With another smile, Kefira gestured to the American and said pleasantly, "If you will come with me, Mr. McCaffrey?"

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


As Jessie picked her way through the encampment about half an hour later, she could feel the tension humming like a overstretched wire. The next confrontation with their enemies was close and they knew it. Their hastily recruited forces spread across the floor of this small, hidden valley a bit like cattle. Jessie shivered as that analogy flitted across her mind. She hoped that they were not being readied for slaughter. The only sound was the occasional high call of a hunting hawk above them and the low murmur of subdued voices from the groups of people who sat or reclined on the ground trying to rest while they had the chance. She could feel their eyes following her as she threaded her way through them toward the center of camp where their truck served as the base of operations. Whenever she passed near one of the of clustered groups, they invariably rose and bowed respectfully to her. She had long since given up trying to make them stop . . . it was a battle lost before it was even begun. Now, she simply smiled and nodded as she strode past.

She spotted both Kefira and McCaffrey as she approached the truck. Someone had actually dug up a chair . . . God only knew from where . . . and he was half-sitting and half-slumped into it, his feet propped up on the running board of the truck. One of their resident field doctors bent over him, trying to tend as many of his injuries as she could. Kefira stood nearby, watching the man carefully as she spoke to one of their section leaders. Jessie noted that Kefira's self-appointed "royal guard" still hovered on the periphery and she heartily approved of their alert stance and restless eyes. One of them spotted her and she watched as that knowledge spread through their ranks like a ripple through a quiet pond. As she stepped into the clear space around the truck, she nodded at the man closest to her and he bowed slightly, acknowledging her. Then about half of the guards faded silently into the surrounding crowd. Like the changing of the guard, the responsibility for protecting their Sultana had just been passed back to her. Sensing her approach, Kefira turned and greeted her.

"Sister. All is well?"

"Yes, Excellency. Guards are posted with a reliable network of messengers ready to pass the word if there is any sign of trouble. I've also sent out scouts in search of the waiting Sipahi forces. Their orders are to locate them and notify their leaders of your arrival and desire to speak with them. If all goes well, we should contact them before nightfall."

"Very good." Kefira then turned to their new guest. "I apologize for the need, Mr. McCaffrey, but I believe we have allowed you all the rest we can afford at this time. I must now ask you to tell us what you know of the castle below."

The man nodded without hesitation. "I'll tell you anything I can. What do you need?"

It was Jessie who replied. "Anything you can tell us, particularly anything dealing with the number and nature of troops housed there, the security measures that are being taken, weapons storehouses. Whatever information you may have will help."

"Well, the numbers in the castle are substantially less than what you have here," Peter replied thoughtfully, looking out across the masses of people that moved throughout the valley floor. "But they are heavily armed. There's also a good-sized stockpile of weapons and ammunition."

"You're sure of that?" Jessie questioned.

Peter nodded decisively. "Yes. Four large trucks arrived while I was being held there and I watched them unload crates full of weapons and cases upon cases of ammunition."

"Could you tell what kind of weapons they were?"

"Not for certain. I saw a lot of rifles and handguns . . . machine pistols and assault rifles. That sort of thing."

"Missile launchers? Explosives? Anything like that?"

"Not that I saw, but I wasn't given a tour so they could have been there and I just didn't see them."

"How tight is their security?"

"They're expecting trouble, if that's what you mean."

Jessie shook her head and began to pace restlessly. "This doesn't sound good," she said to Kefira. Spinning, she strode over to one of the trucks and got something out of the cab. Returning, she handed Peter a pad of paper and a pen. "Diagram the layout of the castle for me. As best as you can remember it." As Peter took the pad from her, a movement caused her to straighten sharply. A man she recognized as one of the members of the perimeter patrol was crossing toward them leading a group of seven individuals she didn't know.

"Heads up, Kefira," she muttered to the other woman. "We've got company."

"The Siphai leaders?" Kefira asked, stepping up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Jessie as they watched them approach.

"Maybe. You stay here for now and let me find out what's going on." Before Kefira could protest, Jessie moved forward to stand at the very edge of the clearing. She gestured to the men who had been standing guard around the area and six of them moved immediately to form a protective wall in front of Kefira. Jessie brought her gun around so it was resting easily on her right arm, at ready but not yet threatening, planted her feet firmly, and stood waiting for the approaching entourage. Approximately ten feet from her, the eight men stopped and the single individual she recognized bowed respectfully.

"Lady. As you requested, I have brought the leaders of the Siphai forces who are in the valley ahead of us guarding the Janissary stronghold. May I present to you Captain Sankar Gupta, head of the Sipahi forces, and his lieutenants. Captain, this is the Lady Jessica Bannon, named sister of the Sultana of Bangalore, military leader of our forces, and she who is known as the Sultana's Sword."

"Captain," Jessie said, bowing her head slightly in acknowledgement and noting the man's obvious surprise and discomfort.

After an instant's hesitation, the man sketched a slight bow. The guard spoke up again after a few seconds of tense silence while the two assessed each other. "Your orders, Lady?" he asked diffidently.

Jessie flicked a glance at the man. "I want you to carry a message to all of the group leaders. I want them here two hours after nightfall for a meeting. Also, notify the encampment coordinators that we will be spending the night here. Noise is to be kept to a minimum and I want no fires set tonight. We are too close to the enemy not to be cautious. When you have finished that, get yourself a meal and then return to your post. I want to know if anything moves along the perimeter. Questions?"

"It will be as you command. Hail to the rightful rulers of Bangalore."

Jessie nodded and waved him away.

The seven men eyed each other uneasily, all of them staring at Jessie with mistrust. Finally, one of them said harshly in Hindi, "We are not here to speak with some woman who is a stranger to this country." His voice rang clearly through the late afternoon air, echoing in the silence. "This land has had its fill of foreigners interfering in our affairs. If this is the one who claims to be the wife of our Sultan, then I say that she is not fit to claim the title!" Around them, an ugly murmur rose from the crowd, and behind her, Jessie heard the soft whisper of steel against sheath as someone pulled a sword or knife. For a long moment, she allowed the challenge to go unanswered, simply staring at the men standing before her as the tense silence lengthened. Again, she felt the stir of movement behind her.

Turning her head slightly, she commanded, "Hold." The voice was quiet and firm, but it froze all of them. Turning back to the newcomers, she replied in the same language, "Did he say that I claimed to be the Sultana? Or give you any reason to believe I sought that position?"

The man who had spoken earlier glowered at her, opening his mouth to retort, but the Captain stopped him with a wave of his hand. "No," Gupta replied evenly, "he did not. However, he did state that if we came with him, we would be given the opportunity to speak with she who claims to be the Sultana. It was the reason we agreed to accompany him. If you are not she, then we ask that you produce this woman so we may judge for ourselves."

"And you have been duly appointed by the people of Bangalore to judge this woman's fitness to be the wife of your Sultan, is that it?"

"If she seeks to lead us into war, then yes, that is the task we have set for ourselves."

"I see." She looked at him for a moment longer and then said in English, "And I'll just bet you got it in writing, doncha?" The sarcasm was clear.

The man blinked. "I do not . . ."

"By whose divine grace was this burden laid, and what token do you carry that seals this fate upon you?" she responded formally, switching back to Hindi once more.

The man licked his lips uneasily, suddenly much less confident. He glanced around quickly, noting the massing crowd that now surrounded them. A palpable feeling of animosity was growing, and in the face of it, the man paled slightly.

"We are beset from within and without," he finally replied, his back stiffening in determination. "You cannot expect us to welcome as savior a woman who is little more than rumor and who asks that we throw ourselves heedlessly into war. The Sultan directed us to watch and wait, and not to act without his word. Our authority comes from him and we will hold to those orders until he returns and commands us differently."

A voice came from the crowd. "And so you would sit back and do nothing, allowing your own countrymen to be slaughtered by outsiders who were banned by the Sultan, while a power-hungry despot rises to the throne in the same fashion as Deepak and Vikram Singh?"

The voice was cold and uncompromising . . . inflexible in its anger and disgust. A sudden flurry of movement behind her almost caused Jessie to flinch. _Don't do this, Kefira,_ she thought desperately. _We need these men. They are the only ones we have that are **trained** to fight._ Then, the other woman was there, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jessie. A quick sideways glance at her face told Jessie exactly how furious Kefira was.

"You sit in the hills, hiding from the enemy, allowing them to fortify and arm themselves . . . allowing them to roam freely throughout the countryside, doing as they please - killing whenever and wherever they chose . . . and you hide behind the excuse that my husband told you not to move until he gave you different orders?!?" Her rage was like a living thing, growing deeper with each passing moment. "While you hide like cowards and do _**nothing**_, the people of this country are dying. Our children are being stolen from us, our wives and daughters are being violated, and our sons are being cut down . . . for no other crime than being born into this place at this time. My own parents were left dead in the dirt without honor or ceremony simply because they believed that all people should have the right to live without fear of being misused or slaughtered for another man's greed. And _you_ . . . _**you**_ come here to judge **_ME_**?" She thumped her chest sharply with her forefinger to emphasize her point, and as she did so, the blow dislodged the ruby pendant that had been tucked inside her shirt. It swung free and bounced against her jacket, the late afternoon sunshine catching it's facets and causing it to blaze into dazzling brilliance. Then Kefira turned away. "Send them away, sister. I will have no cowards in this army. It would be an insult to those who have fought and died with us."

"We are not cowards!" the first man who had spoken shot back in fury.

"No?" Her voice was heavy with sarcasm and anger as she glared back at him. "And yet you seek to judge me and hide behind orders, saying you will not fight. Get out! I will not have you dishonoring those with the will and honor to fight. And when this is over, I will return here with my husband so that you may be released from your orders. Perhaps that will once again give you courage." Then she spun on her heel and stalked away, disappearing into the crowd to their right.

Jessie sighed softly and then gestured to the men behind her. "Go. Make certain no harm comes to her."

"Should we attempt to bring her back, Lady?"

"No. She'll return when she's ready. Just keep her safe and out of trouble."

"As you command."

The crowd parted as four of the Royal Guard left swiftly to go in search of Kefira. Jessie turned back to the guardsmen in front of her to find Captain Gupta looking shaken. "She wears the Heart of Bangalore," he said hoarsely.

"Part of it," Jessie agreed. "The other half is now worn by the Sultan."

The man gave her a sharp look. "The stone has been split?"

"At the Sultan's bidding. Two parts to make a single whole. It is fitting, don't you agree?"

"We meant no disrespect," the Captain said carefully. "But you must understand that we are under oath to obey the orders of the Sultan. The last word we had from him commanded us to watch the stronghold, to report movements and activity, and not to precipitate a fight. We have held to those orders as we were directed." The man squared his shoulders. "We will not fight."

"I understand. It is vital in any army that soldiers obey their commander. But the time also comes when circumstances may force those same men to make independent decisions, is that not also true?" She waved the men toward the truck, turning to fall in beside Captain Gupta. Looking at the nearest guardsman, she ordered, "Send one out among the people. Tell them that there is no need for concern and that they are to relax and rest. Then, bring food and drink for these men. It is late and they are tired. Sit, Captain. The approaches are guarded and for a time, I believe we can feel secure." She glanced up and nodded to Peter McCaffrey, who now stood stiffly beside the truck, his sketchpad clutched tightly in one hand. She introduced the two men and then sank wearily into a chair, waving the others to do the same. The group was silent as several women materialized from the crowd, bringing bread, cheese, water, and strong black coffee. Jessie took the cup offered to her sipped from it, and then grimaced. Seeing the captain watching her, she shook her head. "I never have liked cold coffee."

A ghost of a smile showed at the corners of his mouth. "I am not certain I even remember what it tastes like served hot."

Raising the cup, she saluted him. "Here's to the day when we never have to drink cold coffee again."

Gupta returned the salute and then sighed wearily, leaning back in his chair. After a moment of silence, he said idly, "Your Hindi is very good."

"I've spoken the language for a long time."

"Forgive me for asking, Lady, but who are you? And how do you come to be leading the army of the woman who claims to be the Sultana of Bangalore?"

Jessie raised an eyebrow at him. "'Claims to be', Captain? Surely, you don't still doubt her identity?"

"Do I doubt that she is revered by the Sultan? No. She wears the Heart of Bangalore. There is only one place she could have gotten that token. But Sultana of this country? That I cannot accept. There are laws and traditions concerning how a woman may be chosen to be Sultana and what is proper conduct both before and after the marriage. They relate directly to the fitness of the woman to serve as Sultana and to bear the royal heir. And I will tell you plainly that any woman who places herself in front of men . . . who dresses as this woman does and who purports to lead men with either the intent to govern or to lead them to war . . . is not fit to be Sultana. She does not know her proper place."

Slouching down in her chair, Jessie sipped her coffee again and stared at the toes of her boots. Around her, she could feel the captain's lieutenants listening avidly. Raising her eyes, she looked at Gupta. His face was calm, but there was a stubborn set to his mouth that Jessie recognized. The cultural bias was firmly in place in this man and he would not be easily swayed. Finally, she shook her head and closed her eyes, allowing her head to drop backwards wearily. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Captain." Her expression was composed and there was a touch of sadness in her tone.

The two of them sat in silence, then, waiting to see who would make the next move. Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, Gupta shifted uneasily in the chair and said, "You still have not told me who you are."

"My name is Jessica Bannon."

"Should I know you?"

Jessie raised her head and shrugged slightly. "I've been to the palace often, so it's possible our paths have crossed at one time or another, but there's no particular reason for you to have known me before."

"You are a friend of the Sultan, then."

"You could say so."

When she offered nothing else, Gupta persisted. "How do you know him?"

Jessie straightened and reached for a piece of cheese. "I grew up with him. We have been friends since we were about ten years old." Then she pinned the man with her gaze. "And I am betrothed to his brother."

"The woman the Regent wished to be his wife."

Jessie snorted softly. "Neela can have some really strange ideas sometimes. I love Hadji dearly, but as husband and wife we would have driven each other nuts. Furthermore, Hadji knew from the beginning that I loved his brother. There is no way he ever would have interfered with that. No, he loves Kefira. They are good for each other and that is the way it should be."

"I am afraid that cannot be a factor. She is unfit. He will simply have to chose another."

"You don't know Hadji."

"He has no choi -"

"Captain, if there's one thing I learned a long time ago, it is that Hadji Singh _always_ has choices. But that is beside the point. Hadji loves Kefira, he has already married her, and the marriage has been consummated. If the people of Bangalore are not prepared to accept her as his wife . . ." She spread her hands and shrugged eloquently. "Well, then I guess the Sultancy dies with Hadji, because this country will not get an heir from him by anyone else. It is that simple."

"He cannot . . ." he began stubbornly, but she interrupted him.

"Believe what you want, Captain. Only time will say which of us is right in this matter. At present, Kefira and I have one job and one job only. And that is to get to Bangalore City, find Hadji and his brother, and make certain that they survive Birla and the Janissaries. Now, you and your men can help us with that, or you can stay here in the hills and do nothing. The choice is yours."

"We will not fight for her," the man replied sharply. But then he seemed to hear what she had said and sat forward sharply. "Wait. Are you saying that the Sultan is at the palace? In the hands of Birla?"

"I do not know if they are in the palace or not. But I know that that they are in Bangalore City somewhere and I am certain that they have not been taken by Birla and his men. Beyond that . . . well, we will find out when we get there." Feeling someone at her shoulder, she looked up to find McCaffrey standing there. Wordlessly, he handed her the sketch pad. The diagram of the castle was rather sketchy, but it did give her a basic feel of the way the building was being used by their enemies and how entrenched they were. As she looked at it, an idea began to form. She looked up at the man sitting beside her and said, "Tell me, Captain, if I can give you a way to assist in taking that castle without violating your oath to the Sultan, would you be prepared to assist us?"

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


**_"NO! I forbid it!!!!!!"_**

"Kefira . . ."

"I will not permit it, do you understand me?! It is too dangerous."

The two women faced each other across the width of the clearing near the truck they had been using for a command center. Around them, on-lookers shifted uneasily as Jessie sighed in exasperation. "Kefira, listen to me. I've talked with at least a dozen people who know that castle inside and out." She gestured at two men who stood nearby. "Peter has been inside of it within the last 24 hours and Captain Gupta has been watching it closely for almost two months now. All of them agree. Our enemies are well dug in and can hold out against a frontal assault for longer than we have men to throw at them. It's a total waste to even attempt it."

"Then we will bypass the castle and go directly to Bangalore City!" Kefira responded fiercely. She stood ramrod straight, her fists clenched at her sides and her entire posture radiating anger and fear.

"_No!_ Damn it, we've had this discussion. With the amount of firepower they have available to them, there is no way that Captain Gupta and his forces can keep them here. And we can't risk being caught between two sets of opposing forces."

As though unable to stand still any longer, Kefira began to pace. She stalked from one edge of the clearing to the other restlessly. "There _must_ be another way, Jessie. I cannot accept that this is our only choice."

Jessie dropped into one of the camp chairs sitting near the parked truck, regret tugging at her. "I'm willing to entertain any ideas you might have, but I'm fresh out of inspiration." Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her hair while she rubbed her head wearily. "Kefira, our only other choice is to go for a war of attrition . . . hide out in the hills, utilize hit and run tactics, and try to whittle down their numbers. But you know that's not going to work. For one thing, the Janissary commander we sent to Birla may arrive in the city any time. If Birla sends out reinforcements, we'll end up being caught between two armies. We can't risk that here any more than we can risk it in Bangalore City. And have you forgotten about Dr. Quest?" The sudden stillness in Kefira's face tore at Jessie's heart. "If we don't find Jon and Hadji very quickly and get them back to Maine, Dr. Quest is going to die. We simply don't have the luxury of time. We have to end this and move as quickly as we can for the capital."

Unshed tears glittered in her eyes as Kefira looked at Jessie beseechingly. "Sister, I cannot sanction an action that is sure to get you killed. Please do not ask this of me . . ."

Jessie rose and crossed to stand squarely in front of her friend. "I'm not asking you to sanction it, Kefira. I knew the risks when I made the choice to come here. My job was to protect you, to lead your armies the best way I knew how, and to help you find Hadji and Jon. In this case, protecting you and leading your armies means doing whatever it takes to ensure a victory, while minimizing your exposure to danger. Throwing untrained men against an entrenched enemy that is sure to defeat us will only increase the risk to you and that's unacceptable."

"Then, if this is what must be done, send someone else. It does not have to be you!" Kefira insisted desperately, but Jessie simply shook her head.

"There is no one else. If this is going to work, we have to use the plastic explosives we brought with us, as well as whatever may be housed down there in the castle. I'm the only one who has enough knowledge to be able to do that, and so that makes it my job." Jessie reached out and grasped the other woman's shoulder in a strong, warm grip. "I'm not looking to commit suicide, sister. Two of the people I've talked with worked as servants in the castle for years. They've shown me ways of getting in and moving around that may not be watched. I'll slip in, plant the explosives, slip out again, and be back here before the explosions ever start." She tightened her grip and shook Kefira's shoulder gently. "This will work, Kefira. I swear."

The Sultana of Bangalore pulled free and turned away, walking to the edge of the clearing in silence. Men melted away, clearing a path for her, until she stood gazing out over the empty, moonlit landscape. Finally, without turning, she said heavily, "When we made the decision to come here to try to find my husband, I swore I would follow your judgment in these matters. Do not make me have to explain to him how I allowed the light of his brother's life to go to her death. Now go . . . before I change my mind."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


_How the hell do I get myself into these things?_ Jessie asked herself, plastering her back and shoulders to the cold stone wall behind her and trying to become one with the spiders, roaches, and various other creepy crawlies under the decrepit stairwell in a little-used section of the castle. What had seemed like a good idea at the time, was now beginning to look less and less viable. After the discussion with Kefira, Jessie had gone to the boxes that Mr. Kumar had stored in his truck and began searching for the plastic explosive they had gotten from Paul. It took her three tries to locate the correct crate and another longer search to find the detonators, which had been carefully stored well away from all of the other boxes. Mr. Kumar may not have known exactly what was in all of the containers she and Kefira had brought with them, but it was pretty obvious that he had a good idea.

Her plan was to slip into the castle undetected, set charges in the most vital areas, and then get out again before setting them off. A good idea . . . in theory, at least. Execution was proving to be another matter. The men in the castle were not of the same caliber as the local militia. Instead, they were professionals and were trained almost from birth to be soldiers. Discipline was deeply ingrained into them, and even though they felt secure in their stronghold, they were not being complacent. Guards were plentiful and they were alert and watchful. It was this watchfulness that had driven her into this nasty hiding place. She couldn't risk being detected . . . at least not until all of the charges had been set. Then, if she was spotted . . . well, regardless of what happened to her, the trip would not have been in vain.

Again she heard footsteps approaching, and she pressed further back into the darkness, willing herself into invisibility. The steps came level with her and then passed on by. She was just about to release the breath she was holding when they faltered and stopped. Then they began coming toward her once more. She tensed, preparing herself for a final, desperate bid for freedom, when the sound of a voice stopped her.

"There you are! I had wondered if you were going to join me or had decided to remain in the barracks."

The language was an eastern European dialect somewhat akin to Russian, and Jessie was able to pick up only about three words in five. But it was enough to make sense of the conversation.

"No, I was delayed because one of the lieutenants came with news. You heard that reporter managed to escape?"

"Yes, but it will be of no matter. He cannot go far. One of our reconnaissance parties will find him soon enough."

"It may be of greater significance than you would suppose. The other news is that one of the field captains . . . the one assigned to patrol the high passes in Panjal Province . . . stopped to see the commander just before sundown. It would appear that he met the enemy in a remote valley and there was a battle."

The first man snorted derisively. "So? What do we care if he routed a bunch of peasants?"

"But that is just the point. He did not. He was beaten . . . decisively beaten. Most of his men were killed and many of those that remained were injured. The terms of his surrender sent everyone but him out of the country. They will fight no more in this conflict."

There was naked shock in the first man's voice as he replied incredulously, "_Beaten?_ But how can that be? These people have no skill in warfare . . ."

"It appears they have a new leader . . . one with expertise in fighting and who has brought in weapons that make her a formidable adversary."

_**"Her?"**_

"According to the captain, the leader is the Sultana of Bangalore, herself."

"But I thought there was no Sultana. The ruler here had not married . . ."

"I would say that we were misinformed. Apparently, not only is there a Sultana, but she is able to rally the people around her and direct them effectively. The Commander also told our leader that the people who follow her are fanatical and are out for our blood. I would say that the Captain's policies of maiming and destroying everything in our path, regardless of whether they are civilian or military in nature, may be coming back to haunt us."

There was an extended silence, as if the two men paused to consider the significance of that statement. Finally, Jessie heard one of them take a deep, shaky breath. "I know the man who had been assigned to lead the forces in Panjal Province. I served under him for a time. He is a wily and skilled leader and I have never known him to be beaten on any field of battle. That he should have lost _here_ . . . of all places . . ." There was a brief silence again before the man continued. "Where is he now?"

"Gone. It seems that part of the terms of his surrender were that he carry a message back to our Captain and our employer. He paused only long enough to pass on the news so that we would be warned, and then he continued on toward Bangalore City. I have been sent to bring the sergeants back to a meeting so that we may rethink the defense of this citadel. It is almost certain that we will be attacked in the very near future and our commander wishes to be ready."

"Then let us go quickly. I would know more of this." Two sets of footsteps faded quickly into the distance and after a time, there was nothing left but silence.

In the darkness, Jessie's smile was feral. The Commander's timing couldn't have been better. Sliding out of her hiding place, she looked around carefully and then began moving swiftly. She had a job to finish . . .

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


The royal guardsmen watched uneasily as Kefira paced like a caged tiger along the edge of the cliff face overlooking the valley and castle below. Her movements were tight, as though she fought to rein herself in, and the tension that gripped her was like barely restrained lightning on the front edge of a storm. Back and forth . . . back and forth . . . one moment staring at the ground in front of her, and the next out over the valley into the blackness of night and the brightly illuminated castle below.

"Excellency, perhaps it would be wise if you were to move a bit further back from the edge . . ." The uncertain voice trailed away as the brilliant moonlight allowed him to see the sharp, wordless look Kefira shot at him. It silenced him just as effectively as a blow. The man faded back into the darkness and she returned to pacing once more. A short time later a new voice interrupted her.

"Lady, it will not do to exhaust yourself needlessly." Kefira spun, searching the dimness for the source of the voice. "Please come away from here."

Spotting the man, she turned back to the valley once more. "I cannot rest, Mr. Kumar. Not until this is over and my sister has returned. What time is it?"

"Nearing 2:00 a.m., Excellency." With a soft sigh, the man stepped forward and caught her arm in an insistent grip. "Kefira, there is nothing you can do. You must take the opportunity to rest while you can." There was a brief pause. "It is what she would want you to do."

Kefira's eyes locked with Kumar's and for an instant, the poised young Sultana was gone . . . replaced, instead, with the bruised, bewildered gaze of an emotionally-battered child. He stepped forward quickly and put an arm around her shoulders, bending his head forward so he could hear the tiny, choked voice. "My parents, my brother, my countrymen . . . and now my new sister . . . How many more must I watch die . . . "

Kumar drew her into his arms and held her tightly, closing his eyes against the sound of her pain and anguish. Poignantly, he remembered the child who used to follow her father around the family's mines . . . a child full of light and laughter, fascinated by everything going on around her. He grieved for that lost, innocent child, knowing that life had changed irrevocably for her. She would never be able to forget the events of the last few days, and she would never hesitate to acknowledge her part in the deaths of so many people. Necessity existed and she had done what she had to do, but Kumar knew her well enough to know that the souls of the dead would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"Come, child," he murmured to her softly. "You must rest . . ."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Jessie pressed the detonator firmly into the block of plastic explosive, molding it carefully around the device to ensure that it remained firmly in place, and then slid the entire block into the space created by the missing stone in the back wall of the castle. This was the last one. She had planted explosive charges in three separate places in each of three different munitions storage rooms, in strategic spots along three of the four major walls of the castle, and at the base of all four of the staircases leading to the upper levels of the structure. She checked her watch. 2:57. She had a little over 30 minutes before the first two charges went off. They were small and set deeply in the old wing of the castle. They were designed to draw the garrison's forces rather than to kill or drive them from the fortress. The next to go would be the weapons caches, then the stairwells, and finally the walls of the structure, hopefully coming down on the heads of as many of their enemies as possible.

Nausea stirred as she briefly considered what she was doing. It was as if some part of her was a cold, calculating machine, ruthlessly seeking ways to inflict the most damage, while a completely separate part looked on in horror, helpless to stop the actions. For an instant, she leaned against the wall and stared at that small package of death, wondering if she was going to be able to live with herself when all of this was over. Unbidden, other images rose in her mind's eye . . . a sobbing young man, on his knees next to the body of a woman whose staring brown eyes would never see the sky above her again . . . a child of no more than seven who stood amidst the smoking rubble of a house, shell-shocked and lost, with no where to go and no one left to care for him . . . an old woman, so twisted with arthritis she could barely stand, valiantly trying to protect the newly born child whose mother lay at her feet, pinned to the ground by a sword through her ribs. With a soundless sob, she thrust herself to her feet. She had no time for this. There was still one more thing she had to do before she could return to Kefira and the others and she was running out of time.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


"She is asleep?"

Tarang Kumar turned from the truck to find Captain Gupta at his shoulder. He stared at the man briefly and then shrugged, moving away from the truck quietly.

"She rests, however I doubt that she sleeps."

"I need to speak with you, Mr. Kumar."

Kumar eyed the man for a long moment, then gestured and moved out of earshot of the truck. Turning back to him, he asked, "What is it that you wish to say?"

"This is madness! Surely, you must see this. " Gupta gestured back toward the truck. "She is a woman and little more than a child. She has no idea what she is setting in motion here. We must put a stop to it before she gets all of these people killed!"

"She is Sultana of this country. These people are hers to dispose of as she sees fit," Kumar responded coldly.

"She is **_NOT_** Sultana! Her every action shows that she is unfit for such a role! To believe she can lead men into battle -"

"She has already done that . . . several times. And she has won every time, as well. Yes, we have lost people. But far fewer than you would expect, given that we are forced to send farmers and peasants up against trained soldiers."

"So you condone slaughter?"

Fury flared in Kumar's eyes and he began advancing on Gupta with a tigerish tread. "Slaughter? What do **_you_** know of slaughter? You sit in these hills, hiding from the enemy . . . keeping watch as the Sultan ordered, you say . . . and never see fighting, while I've watched as men kill, maim and torture in the name of greed." Gupta fell back a step in the face of the man's rising voice and sudden rage. "Do you want to know what slaughter is, Captain? Slaughter is an entire village ransacked and torched, it's male children stolen to feed the ranks of the enemy, their mothers and daughters defiled and left for dead, and its men shot down without ever having the chance to defend themselves. Slaughter is an honorable man and his wife shot and left lying in the dirt without benefit of grace or dignity simply for daring to say that a poor farmer deserves better treatment that being stripped of his goods and family, and starved to death so that an already wealthy man can have even more money. Slaughter is filling a house with women and children, locking them inside, and then setting fire to it for the sheer joy of watching it burn!" Kumar stopped, breathing heavily, the force of his rage causing him to tremble visibly. "Kefira Singh knows more of slaughter than you or any of your men ever will, and **none** of you are _fit_ to share the same space with her!"

Out of the darkness, Kefira suddenly materialized at Kumar's side. Catching his arm in a tight grip, she said gently, "Peace, Mr. Kumar. There is no point in fighting amongst ourselves." Reaching up, she placed a hand against his cheek and forced him to look down at her, breaking his ferocious eye lock with the Captain. "The advice you gave me recently was sound. You are also tired, my friend. I want you to go to your bed and try to sleep in what little time we have remaining."

"But . . ."

"There is nothing more you can do here." She smiled at him. "I thank you for your care. You served my father for many years and continue to do so even after his passing. I am grateful. Now go. I will speak with the Captain." She saw him about to protest again and seemed to read his mind. "I am safe enough. The guardsmen are at hand. You need not worry. Go on. I will send for you when the time comes for us to leave for the city."

With a final, side-long glower at the Captain, he bowed to her and then walked away. When the night had swallowed him up, she turned back to the other man who stood warily a short distance away. "You must forgive him, Captain. Grief is still too near the surface and it claws it's way free to vent against others at times." She gestured toward the chairs that still sat near the cab of the truck. "I would offer you coffee, but we build no fires this close to the enemy. I can offer water, however, if you have the need."

"No," the man replied, following her reluctantly. He sat in the chair and she indicated and after an awkward moment, he asked, "Has he lost family recently?"

Profound sorrow flicker across her face. "Yes. His wife died some years ago giving birth to his daughter, Ramani, leaving him to raise his son and daughter alone. He served my father closely for many years, just as his father served my grandfather. He and his children spent much of their time with our family, as Nasim was the same age as my younger sister, and Ramani was only a year older than my youngest brother. When Mr. Birla and the Janissaries came, Ramani was locked in my family's home along with all of the other women and children of the house. The Janissaries killed my parents and burnt our home with all still inside. It was Mr. Kumar that carried my parents to their biers and sent their spirits to the next life. You must allow him the right to hate our oppressors, Captain. I do not believe there is anyone alive who has more cause than he does."

Captain Gupta licked his lips and stared at Kefira in the moonlight. "You say that Mr. Birla had a direct hand in these murders? Were you there?"

"No. I was out of the country at school. But he was there, leading the Janissary force he brought with him. He was seen and recognized." She held up her hand, stopping him before he had the chance to say anything else. "I owe you an apology, Captain. I should not fault a man for acting in an honorable fashion. My husband gave you your orders and you have followed them faithfully. Nor will I ask you to break them now. Providing my sister is successful in what she attempts to do, at dawn we will continue on to Bangalore City in search of my husband. I ask only that you remain here and keep watch. Should our enemies manage to put together a fighting force and move to follow us to the city, send word to me so that we can be prepared. Can you do that?" Slowly, the man nodded. She sighed softly. "I also know that you cannot find it in your heart to acknowledge my marriage to our Sultan."

"I believe there are some traditions that must remain, Lady, or as a people, we cease to be who we are."

Kefira nodded. "I understand. I would have you know, Captain, that my husband and I tried very hard to follow the dictates of tradition. That we were unable to do so . . ." She shrugged eloquently. "Well, I suppose there were many factors that made it impossible. But I do love him very much."

Gupta leaned forward urgently. "Then if you love him, Lady, you must step back . . . denounce this marriage as improper and free him to take a wife that will serve both him and the country properly. Surely, you realize that your actions have shown you unfit to be Sultana? The wife of the Sultan has a place . . . a very specific role to fill . . . and tradition has outlined that role very clearly. For you to act as you have done . . ." He shook his head. "It undermines the very foundations of who we are as a people and each individual's place in the structure of our society."

Kefira sighed and shook her head. "Times change, whether we wish them to or not. You tell me that my actions make me unfit to rule, and yet had things been different and Haresh Singh had died before Hadji was born, you would have supported Deepak and later Vikram, without a second thought . . . even though both men were blatantly unfit to rule and gave absolutely no thought to the best interest of the people at all."

"You cannot know what sort of rulers Deepak or Vikram would have been if they had come to power in the proper fashion," Gupta tried to protest weakly, but faltered at Kefira's soft, amused snort.

"Come, Captain. Let us not hide behind absurdities. We both know that neither of those two men had an ounce of goodness anywhere in their black hearts. They were greedy and lusted for power from the day they were born. But this debate gains us nothing. The choice is my husband's to make. Let us leave it at this. When our enemy is defeated, I will see that you are brought before my husband so that you may make your arguments. If he sees merit in them and believes it to be the best for our country, then I will step aside without protest and submit to whatever judgment the Sultan and the High Council see fit to levy against me. But in the meantime, I ask that within the scope of your orders from my husband, you support, or at least do not interfere, with me so that I may do all in my power to locate the Sultan and return him to his throne."

Slowly, Gupta bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I agree, Lady. We will -"

But before he could finish the sentence, a low rumble shook the ground beneath their feet. The two of them exchanged started looks and Kefira rose hastily from her chair. The murmur of rising voices surrounded her as Kefira pushed her way through the crowds back toward the edge of the cliff face overlooking the valley. She could feel Captain Gupta close on her heels. She skidded to a halt not far from the edge and looked down on the castle. Everything appeared to be quiet. She turned and exchange a puzzled look with the Captain.

"We did not imagine that, did we Captain?"

"No, Lady. There was definitely someth-"

And in that instant, the night seemed to erupt in fury. A violent explosion reverberated through the air and caused the very rock beneath their feet to tremble. For an instant the castle seemed to expand in the harsh glare of the manmade lights that surrounded the structure. Then, a sheet of yellow-white fire shot skyward as the stones of the building were flung outward into the dark. Another explosion rocked the structure and the outer walls began to crumble in on themselves. Fires rose to engulf all areas of the huge complex and on the outer edges, dry grasses and trees began to smolder and then burst into flames. From somewhere in the heart of the burning ruin, the sounds of gunfire began to sound and the two on the cliff face flinched back.

"Ammunition," Gupta murmured shakily. "The fire is setting off the stored ammunition. By all the Gods, she did it!"

Beside him, Kefira stood still as stone, staring down at the devastation. Tears fell unheeded, as she whispered in agony, "Sister . . ."

Gupta looked at her in confusion, stunned that she did not appear pleased about this latest success. Kumar suddenly materialized at the young woman's back, catching her shoulders and cradling her against his chest, as his eyes met those of the Captain.

"She was to be back before the explosions began," he reminded Gupta bleakly. "If she has not returned, it can only mean . . ." His voice trailed off, and finally, he turned and drew the sobbing Sultana away into the night. 


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter Forty-eight**

  


Hadji had been awake for about ten minutes when a soft sound from the far side of the room caused him to turn his head and search the dimness for its source.

"Hey," his brother's soft voice greeted him. "You awake?"

"Yes," Hadji replied in the same tone. "I have been for a while."

"How do you feel?"

"Well enough. What time is it?"

"It's about 1:00 in the afternoon."

"Where are we?"

"In a building on the far side of the city from the Palace. The place belongs to the friend of a relative of Vijay Patel. Originally, we had planned to stay with Vijay's brother, but everyone decided that if the soldiers came looking for you they were likely to start with the Patels. So we were moved. It's down in the slums on the south side and it's unlikely anyone will come looking for us here."

Hadji nodded. "I do not even remember getting into the city."

"I'm not surprised. You were pretty well done in, and both Neela and I decided that there was no sense in fighting with you any longer. So I nailed you with a good dose of morphine and put you out cold." Jonny could feel Hadji's glare in the dimness of the windowless room. "Don't give me that look! If you'd use a little sense, stuff like that wouldn't be necessary. You kept insisting that you could walk into the city but it was obvious that you couldn't. So rather than risk you collapsing and calling attention to all of us, I put you out and you were brought into the city in a grain cart."

Hadji sighed and flicked a hand at his brother in the dimness. "Very well. I bow to the necessity of the action. So where is everyone now?"

"Most of them are out and about. Vijay and Mahavir are trying to make contact with the resistance leaders. They've been gone for several hours. The others are spread out in the streets, keeping an eye on the comings and goings in the area and trying to make certain no one got wind of our arrival."

"Mother?"

"She's been sleeping. Vijay made it clear that she and I were to stay out of sight, so both of us have taken the opportunity to get some rest. I've only been awake about an hour."

Hadji sighed softly and nodded. Jonny settled cross-legged on the floor next to the pallet on which Hadji lay and for a while the two of them shared a companionable silence.

"Almost feels like old times, doesn't it?" Jonny asked after a while. "I mean, if you put aside the circumstances. Exotic locations, primitive conditions, people chasing us . . ."

Hadji laughed softly. "Yes, it does. What does it say about us, my brother, that such things bring back fond memories?"

"That we're a bit strange?" Jonny replied with a snort.

"Or that we are luckier than most." He stirred restlessly. "Do we know what happens next?"

"I guess that's pretty much up to you. Vijay wants to bring the resistance leaders back here for a meeting. He really doesn't want you out on the streets where you could be an assassination target. Are you still determined to attack the palace?"

"I see no other choice. As long as Birla remains in a position of power, the fighting will continue." He paused for a moment and when he continued, there was a strong note of bitterness in his voice. "I was stupid, Jonny. I truly believed that I could control the man, but I was wrong. I should have removed him long ago, by force if that was what it took. So many people have died because I was unwilling to do what was necessary."

"Stop that!" Jonny responded sharply. "'What-ifs' and 'should-have-dones' are pointless. You have no way of knowing what would have happened if you'd forcibly removed Birla from the Council. In all likelihood, he'd still have fought to overthrow you. The only difference would have been that it would've occurred under cover where you couldn't keep an eye on him. And who's to say how many people would have died then? You know what Race always says. 'You play the hand you're dealt.' You did the best you could under the circumstances, and every move you've made has been with the best interests of the people of Bangalore at heart. That's a hell of a lot more than you can say for Birla. If you want me to be honest, I don't think that anything you did would have prevented this confrontation. It's the nature of the man. He took his lessons from Deepak and Vikram and he's just power-hungry and callous enough to be willing to apply all he learned. So the best thing to do now is to find a way to get rid of him for good. That's what you need to be focusing on, not wallowing in regret."

Hadji didn't reply for a long moment, mulling over his brother's words. Finally, he sighed again. "I know that you are right. It is just hard sometimes. I hate to see anyone suffer needlessly, and all of this is so pointless."

"I know. But there will always be -"

A soft knock on the door interrupted their conversation and it was Hadji who replied, "Come."

The door opened, spilling soft yellow light into the dimness. Mahavir stepped into the room holding an oil lamp and said quietly, "Excellency?"

"Come in, Mr. Patel. I am awake."

"Yes, Sire." He moved into the room, set the lamp on a nearby ledge, and then bowed. "My uncle and I have returned from our search for the resistance leaders, and he thought you would wish to know what we were able to discover."

Hadji nodded, sitting up carefully and turning to face the newcomer. He waved at a nearby chair, indicating that Mahavir should sit, as he settled back gingerly against the shabby wall behind him. Rather than taking the chair, Mahavir chose to settle cross-legged on the floor near Jonny.

"First, tell me what you hear about the current situation in Bangalore," Hadji said to him.

"There has been street fighting throughout the city for the last several days," Mahavir replied. "It appears the Janissary troops were roaming freely, randomly assaulting civilians whenever it suited them. Their orders appear to have been to simply instill fear in the populace." The man's grin was almost feral. "The tactic had the exact opposite effect. The people grew more and more angry, and began attacking the soldiers en masse whenever they appeared. Shortly after dawn this morning, a large mob struck, trying to force their way into the Palace. They made it as far as the doors to the inner courtyard before they were driven back."

"What caused them to do such a thing?!" Hadji exclaimed in agitation.

"A rumor had begun to circulate that you had been captured and imprisoned in the dungeons, along with your Lady Mother. It so enraged the people, that they tried to take the Palace by force."

"Where the hell did that come from?" Jonny demanded. "Thakur made it a point to be certain that Hadji's presence in country and his escape from the Palace was known."

"My uncle and I believe that it was deliberately leaked from the Palace in an effort to cow the the populace."

"It would be like Mr. Birla to assume that the simple word of my capture would break the spirit of the people and destroy the resistance," Hadji observed thoughtfully. "He really has no understanding of our countrymen at all."

"Well shit," Jonny said in disgust. "That's going to make it a lot harder for us to get in."

"How many were killed?" Hadji asked painfully.

Mahavir sighed softly. "Close to a hundred. An accurate count has not been possible because many of the dead had to be left behind within the Palace walls during the withdrawal. The Janissaries burned all of the bodies left behind out in the middle of the main plaza and then retreated into the palace and barred the gates. Nothing have been seen of them since. The people hold the streets and surround the Palace, so our enemies are penned in, but they are now well fortified."

Jonny rose and began to pace restlessly. "It's going to be like shooting fish in a barrel if we try to throw poorly armed peasants up against the Palace. It was built to withstand a siege and we don't have the weapons to break it." The two men watched him pace for a long moment in silence. "I'm not sure we'll have much time, either," he finally continued. "Birla has forces out in the countryside and you can bet he has a way to keep in contact with them. You've got to know that he'll call them in and we'll end up caught between two superior forces."

"That is the other piece of news I bring," Mahavir said. "It appears we do not have to worry about that issue. A messenger came in not too long ago with word that the castle on the plateau that served as a munitions storehouse and garrison have been totally destroyed."

"Destroyed? How? When?" Hadji demanded.

"Sometime before dawn this morning. Explosives were used and the attack caught them totally unprepared. From what the messenger says, there is not a great deal left of the structure itself and most of the troops housed there were also eliminated. Of those that remain, many are injured and in no condition to fight, and those that weren't have been scattered into the hills."

Jonny looked at his brother in surprise. "I thought you told me the Sipahi troops were directed to watch that garrison but not to fight?"

"They were. Did the messenger say who initiated the action?"

"No," Mahavir replied with a shake of his head. "But he is still here and I suspect he knows more than he is saying. He has asked for you several times by name but refuses to say more."

"Then let us find out what he knows," Hadji said grimly as he levered himself carefully to his feet. Both Jonny and Mahavir stood quickly, reaching out hands to steady him. Hadji swayed slightly when he finally got upright, but after a moment seemed to get stronger. He shrugged off their hands, straightened his shoulders, and said firmly, "Come along." Then he crossed the room, opened the door, and stepped out into the main room confidently.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


"Where is she?" Tarang Kumar demanded of the guardsman who stood rigidly in front of him. The man licked his lips and shifted uneasily, glancing at Captain Gupta who stood next to Kumar. The Sipahi captain's expression did nothing to reassure the man.

"I - I do not know, sir," he stammered. "She was here an hour ago . . . I saw her myself."

"Well, she is not here now!" Kumar snapped angrily. "Where did she go?" The man shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, but Kumar cut him off. "I do not want to hear it. Just _find_ her . . . before she is captured or hurt!"

The guard scuttled away hastily, grateful to be away from the older man's fury. Kumar bowed his head and rubbed it as though it hurt. After a moment, Gupta said quietly, "I understand that it is not my place, Mr. Kumar, but I would suggest that perhaps now would be the time to order fires set and a hot meal prepared for as many as you possibly can. If your lady truly intends to take this fight to the capital, it would be better if your people had a decent meal and some rest before you begin the journey."

Kumar seemed not to hear him. "I must find her!" he muttered, his eyes darting around the area frantically.

Gupta grabbed his shoulder and shook the other man sharply. "_Mr. Kumar!_ Listen to me! You must focus . . ."

Kumar blinked and stared at him, seeming to see the captain for the first time. "What?"

"You must tend to the people and allow the lady's guardsmen to locate her. She probably only wanted some time alone to collect herself. While she is gone -"

"You do not understand! They have already sent an assassin to try to kill her. If it had not been for the Lady Jessica they would have succeeded. With her gone now, the Sultana is vulnerable. We cannot afford to have her killed!"

Gupta thought about that as he gazed out across the valley floor. Even in the short time that he'd been here, the number of people that followed this woman seemed to have grown exponentially. From what he had seen, they were blindly devoted and fanatically loyal. If she were to be killed, the response would be . . . He shuddered involuntarily. No, he may not support her as Sultana of his country, but he _had_ come to believe that she had nothing but the best interests of the Sultan and the people at heart. Allowing her to be killed . . . by an assassin, or anyone else for that matter . . . was not acceptable.

"Lieutenant!" he shouted, turning to look for his second in command.

"Sir!"

"Put together a search party. You are to find Kefira Subramanian. When you locate her, you are to make your presence known to her . . . respectfully, you understand . . . and tell her that her leaders are concerned for her well-being and wish her to return to the safety of the encampment. If she chooses not to do so, you are not to force her. But you are to see that no harm comes to her. I do not doubt that she will return of her own free will when she is ready, but I do not want anything to happen to her. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And if she chooses not to return immediately, I want word that she is safe. Now go!" The Captain turned back to find his companion eying him in surprise. "One can respect another's motives and beliefs without necessarily agreeing with their tactics. I do not believe that it would be in anyone's best interests were Ms. Subramanian to die."

Kumar bristled once more. "Singh . . . not Subramanian."

Gupta shrugged. "Time will tell. The most important thing right now is to keep her alive. My men will find her and ensure her safety. But in her absence, it is up to you to see to the welfare of the people who follow her. As I was saying, a hot meal might be the best course . . ."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


High above the valley floor, Kefira sat staring down at the secluded haven and it's occupants. From her rocky perch, she watched as the people below her moved, seeming to ebb and flow like the tides along the coastline of her husband's home in Maine. Desperately, she tried to close her mind to the onslaught of memories that seemed to flood in on her, as she had ever since Maia had brought word of her parents' death, but for the first time she was unable to stop them. Instead, images kept flashing behind her eyes in an endless parade . . . 

__

. . . her father, holding her hand and leading her carefully through the scurrying activity on her first trip to one of the family's mines,

. . . the sound of her mother's voice as she rocked the newest edition to their family, a baby boy name Srinivasan,

. . . Sumant, lifting her carefully into the saddle of the new pony and telling her that she wasn't to worry, he would see that she was the best rider in the province,

. . . her father, standing at the center of one of the family's mines, directing the frenetic energy that was the daily operations of their family's business as she stood holding the papers he allowed her to carry for him,

. . . her mother, calm and placid among the sea of children that always seemed to fill their home,

. . . her older brother again, his face alight as he watched a leopard lazing in the shade of some shrubs at midday . . .

The tears that she had held at bay for so long blurred her vision as the roller coaster of memories continued, carrying her mercilessly from the distant past toward the present.

__

. . . the stranger coming around the corner in the Royal Palace and slamming into her with no warning,

. . . the feel of his arms around her and the softness of his voice in the fragrant darkness of the palace gardens,

. . . the way her father looked at her on their return trip to Panjal province as her mother talked non-stop about wedding preparations for her older sister,

. . . the look on Sumant's face when she whispered to him that she was going to school in the United States and would later be married - to the Sultan,

. . . her father, standing in a European museum and smiling at her with pride as the sculpture made of their stone was unveiled,

. . . the vivid shock on her sister-to-be's face as she exclaimed, "He's crazy about you! You're all he's talked about ever since he got home.",

. . . Jonny's soft voice at the belated Christmas party saying to Matt Evans, "Yeah, she's really cool. And she and Hadji are so great together." . . .

Suddenly, the deep, overwhelming grief could be held at bay no longer, and it swept up and enveloped her. Deep, wrenching sobs shook her entire body as she drew her knees tightly against her chest and dropped her forehead onto her knees. So many dead . . . so many people who had been her world . . . gone forever. How much more of this could she endure?

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


"Wait!" the man gasped and grasped frantically at the leather-clad arm of the woman in front of him. "We . . . have to . . . stop . . . for a minute. Rest . . ."

Jessie turned and looked at the ragged line of refugees behind her with a combination of impatience, compassion, and regret. There were about 30 of them, all strung out in a straggling column behind her . . . the prisoners from the castle. It had been obvious from the instant she set foot in the dungeons that things weren't going to be pretty, but what she found there was beyond anything she could ever have imagined. Many had already died and the stench was enough to make her nauseous and light-headed. Corpses had been piled haphazardly in one room and she discovered later that the remains were carried out and dumped in a mass grave at the base of the mountains whenever there were prisoners with enough strength to haul them. When there weren't, the bodies were simply left in the room to rot. Vermin infested the place, feeding on the decaying remains, and the swarms of flies in the wing where the bodies lay were almost impossible to see through. Disease was also on the rise and many of those she found still living, wouldn't be for long. Powerless to help those people, she had been forced to leave them there. Jessie was certain that their desperate cries for help would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.

Of those few that were still capable of moving, none were in great shape. Injuries varied from exhaustion and malnutrition caused by neglect to open wounds and broken bones from deliberate torture. And that didn't even begin to address the psychological torment they were all suffering. Privately, Jessie thought it a miracle that any of them were able to move at all. She paused and looked at the battered American photographer that still grasped her arm.

"Mr. Armstead, I'm sorry. I know you're all near the end of your endurance. But we have to reach the safety of the encampment. If we're caught here in the open, there's no way I'll be able to defend all of you. It's not that far now, and once we get there, everyone will get medical attention and have the chance to rest. But until then, we've got to keep going."

"I - I don't think I can," he gasped, sagging against a nearby boulder. His shattered left arm lay at an odd angle in the makeshift sling despite Jessie's best attempts to find a way to secure it. The hand had begun to blacken slightly and she suspected that the bones had been destroyed beyond repair. The right side of his face was black and blue, as was most of the other skin surfaces she could readily see. She wondered briefly if the Janissaries who held him had actually wanted information or if they had just beaten him for sport. Whichever it was, she was astonished he was still alive, let alone walking. After a moment, he continued, "You go on. Those of us that can will follow. The rest will wait here until you can send back help."

Jessie stood for a long moment, torn by conflicting responsibilities. She needed to get back, as Kefira was sure to be absolutely frantic by now. But she couldn't abandon these people. If only she still had someone she could send for help. It had been a mistake to send the messenger on to Bangalore City before she had gotten these people to safety.

A harsh voice from around an outcrop of rock beside the trail they had been following sent her flying back toward the end of her line of charges. Her gun was up and ready as she cleared the rocks obstructing her view and found six men with rifles threatening a group of people who could barely stand.

"Stop!" she snapped sharply in Hindi, as the combination of Sipahi uniforms and peasant garments registered.

Heads snapped around at her words and after an instant's hesitation, one of the men gasped, "It is the Sword! She lives!"

The Sipahi soldiers hesitated, but the peasants that formed the group surged toward her without hesitation, babbling incoherently. It took Jessie a few moments to get them calmed down sufficiently to make sense, but when she did, she was seriously upset by what they told her.

"What do you mean 'missing'? How could she be missing?"

"We do not know, Lady. She just - just . . . disappeared!" The marked agitation in the all of them disturbed Jessie even further. If something had happened to Kefira, the group that had been following her was sure to turn into an infuriated mob that would be beyond anyone's ability to control. She couldn't allow that to happen!

"Enough!" she shouted over the pandemonium of raised voices. She pointed at the people who were huddled together like frightened sheep in the face of all of the noise. "These are the prisoners that were in the dungeons at the castle. They are in desperate need of assistance." She glanced at the insignia on the Sipahi leader's uniform and then continued. "Lieutenant, I want you to come with me. The rest of you are to see that these men are taken to the encampment and cared for."

"But Lady, we were specifically sent by Mr. Kumar to find the Sultana," the man who had first approached her protested. "If we -"

"You leave the Sultana to me. Just get these people to aid."

The man bowed and began to turn away just as one of the Sipahi guardsmen stepped forward to stand next to the lieutenant. Jessie recognized him as the man who had given she and Kefira a hard time when they first encountered the Sipahi troops. The defiant expression on his face made his intentions clear. The man's move triggered his troop mates to do the same and in short order all six of the Sipahi guardsmen were ranged in front of her. Jessie's gaze flicked over them in disgust. Eyeing the lieutenant coldly, she said, "They aid these people or you go your own way. I do not have time to deal with an entourage."

Without even waiting for an acknowledgement, she spun and strode purposefully back the way she had come. Behind her, she heard the indistinct sound of voices and a moment later, the lieutenant joined her. To her unspoken question, he replied, "They will assist the others."

As the two of them rounded the rock outcropping, she spotted Armstead. He appeared to have sunk to the ground right where he had been standing. His back rested against the boulder, his eyes were closed, and his face had a decidedly gray cast. Kneeling beside him, she laid a careful hand on the shoulder opposite his bad arm and asked quietly, "Mr. Armstead, are you still with me?"

Reluctantly, his eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at her with dazed expression. "Yes."

She nodded as she caught a flash of a Sipahi uniform out of the corner of her eye. "We've just acquired help. I'm going to leave you in their hands. They'll see that you get safely to the encampment and receive medical treatment."

His eyes seemed to focus on her and with a bit more strength he demanded, "You're leaving us?"

"Only for a short time. Something else has come up that I have to deal with, but I'll see you back at camp."

"But -"

"Corporal, see to this man," the Sipahi Lieutenant ordered as Jessie rose to her feet. They remained just long enough to ensure that attention was being paid to the injured man and then turned and set off at a rapid pace once more, angling off of the trail and heading up into the hills. The two of them moved through the countryside silently for a while. Jessie could feel the man watching her, but chose to ignore him. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, Lady, but do you have a destination in mind? Perhaps you know where the Sultana has gone?"

Jessie paused and shaded her eyes with a hand, scanning the area carefully. "Not a specific destination, no."

The man waited, but when no further information was forthcoming, he asked, "Then what are we doing?"

"Searching for the Sultana."

"I do not understand . . ."

Jessie finally looked at the man beside her. He was substantially younger than the Captain who led this group. "Saying that I do not know where she is does not mean that I do not know how she thinks," she replied in Hindi. "Tell me, Lieutenant, do you know why she left?"

The man hesitated. "I believe she was upset, Lady. All expected that you would return before the castle was destroyed. When you did not do so, everyone feared the worst. The Sultana stood strong in the face of your assumed loss, but . . ." He shrugged.

"They wouldn't leave her alone, would they?"

"Everyone was concerned for her."

Jessie cocked at eyebrow at the young man. "Even your commander?" He shifted uneasily under her penetrating stare. "Tell me something, Lieutenant. I know that Captain Gupta does not approve of the Sultan's marriage. Do you agree with him?"

"I - I do not think it is wise for me to have an opinion on the matter."

Jessie grinned and shook her head. "No, that's not gonna cut it anymore. I know your Sultan. He expects you to have an opinion and to express it when asked. So I'll ask you again . . . what is your opinion of the Sultan's marriage? Do you agree with your commander that it is inappropriate and must not endure?"

"I believe," he said slowly, "that the world has changed. While it is true that if we wish to keep ourselves intact as a people we must take care to preserve those parts of our culture that make us what we are, I think that we must evaluate our customs for validity in the face of the new world. And I think that in doing this, many of the old ways will be found to be in need of change."

Jessie nodded economically and turned her attention to their surroundings again. After a moment, she pointed to a large outcrop of rock about a two kilometers away. "The Sultana will search for high ground," she said and set off at a brisk walk again.

"High ground?" the man demanded, following after her doggedly.

"She will want some time to be alone, but she will know that she cannot go far. She will also wish to be in a position to keep an eye on the encampment . . . hence, high ground."

"I see . . ." he replied, but his tone said he was still doubtful.

After that, conversation between them died as it took all of their available breath to maintain the pace Jessie set for them. About twenty minutes later, they stopped at the foot of the cliff Jessie had spotted. A clear trail ran along its base and less than 500 meters further along there was a break in the terrain that disguised an entrance into the hidden valley that served the encampment. Turning, Jessie examined the cliff face carefully, craning her head back to examine the vertical surface as it rose above her. Freshly broken chips of stone and scraped patina were clearly visible.

"And I thought Jonny was bad," Jessie murmured ruefully to herself in English. "Sister, sometimes you are absolutely crazy . . ."

"What? I did not underst -"

"Wait here," Jessie ordered, cutting him off. Then, without another word, she reached out and began to climb. She could hear her companion start to protest, but put him out of her mind as she concentrated on the rock face. 

As a technical climb, she had done worse, even though it didn't take her long to wish that she had climbing gear and safety ropes. The cliff face was made of granite that had seen its share of weathering. The surface was broken and rough so there was a wealth of hand and foot holds. Unfortunately, the same characteristics that made it good for climbing also made it risky. Much of the exposed surface was cracked and broken, and each hand and foot hold had to be checked carefully to ensure it wouldn't give way when she shifted her weight to it. Also, broken chips of stone often had to be cleared out of the way to make room for her to get a good grip. The process was slow and tedious and before long she lost all track of time. The one time she looked down, she saw that the steady shower of small stones had finally driven her companion away from the rock face. He was still nearby, but had moved several meters off of the path, shading his eyes and watching as she climbed. _After all of this, you'd better be up here, Kefira,_ Jessie thought to herself. 

She was about thirty feet up the cliff face when she discovered a narrow cleft in the rock. Appearing like little more than a cracked surface rock from the ground, the narrow fissure widened off to her right forming a ledge. Jessie clung to the rock and eased herself carefully to her right along the narrow ledge until it had widened sufficiently for her to be able to stand and turn around safely. Only then did she realize that her climb had taken her steadily away from the edge of the valley below. Her companion on the ground was now some way off to the right of where she had begun climbing and from his stance she could tell that she must have disappeared from his sight rather abruptly. In fact, at the moment he appeared rather agitated. She leaned out carefully and waved at him, gesturing in a manner that she hoped he understood as a signal to wait and then turned her attention to the ledge once more. It was about five feet at its widest point with a slight upward tilt making it virtually invisible from the ground below, and it's surface was clear everywhere except along the joint where it met the rock of the cliff. There, a bunch of stone chips, small rocks, and struggling plants littered its surface. Jessie eyed the ledge uneasily, wondering why its surface would be so clear of rubble. As if in answer to her question, a sudden sharp gust of wind shook her, causing her to shy away from the edge of the cliff. It swirled along the ledge, shifting some of the rocks and debris near the cliff face uneasily before dying away once more. With a rueful grin she sketched the barest hint of a bow to the wind, "Thank you for the information," she murmured softly.

Silently, Jessie moved forward along the ledge, following it as it curved along the cliff face back toward the edge of the valley below. As the breathtaking vista opened up below, Jessie saw her. Kefira sat about a foot from the edge that overlooked the encampment. But she wasn't watching the activity below. Instead, she was huddled almost into a ball. Her legs were drawn up against her chest and her forehead rested on her knees. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her shins and her hair, which had been tightly braided into a long plait down her back, now spread out loose around her like a shroud. She was utterly silent and motionless, and sudden fear caused Jessie to move forward swiftly. She knelt on one knee beside the other girl and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Kefira?"

Kefira jerked sharply and her head snapped up in response to her name. She stared at Jessie disbelievingly for the space of several heartbeats and then asked hoarsely, "S-s-sister?"

Jessie grinned at her with feigned cheer, deeply disturbed by the marks of exhaustion and grief she saw etched in the other woman's face. "Told you I'd be back."

_**"JESSIE!!!!"**_ Kefira literally launched herself at the other woman, catching her up in a stranglehold and sending them both tumbling back toward the back of the ledge. Jessie wrapped her arms around her, appalled at the violence of the sobs that shook Kefira. Scooting back toward the cliff face, Jessie leaned against the rock and held the other woman, just letting her cry. After a time, the storm began to subside until finally Kefira sat upright out of Jessie's embrace and wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket.

"I am sorry," she said in a subdued tone.

"For what?" Jessie asked her as Kefira settled next to her with her back against the stone cliff.

"It seems I do not have very good control for the Sultana of a country," she replied bitterly. "Not if I run away when times get hard and then fall to pieces."

Jessie stared out into the distance for a long moment. "Or maybe," she replied carefully without looking at her companion, "you have too much control for your own good." When Kefira didn't reply, Jessie sighed softly. "Kefira, you can't beat yourself up because you're unable to stand emotionless while people die all around you. You've lost loved ones, your family, and you've not allowed yourself to grieve for them. Your husband has gone missing amidst his most dangerous enemies, and while we can believe that he's still alive, there is always that shred of doubt. You've met and tried to comfort people who have been brutalized, had family members murdered, and have been driven from their homes. And you've sent people you feel responsible for into battle against a superior enemy _knowing_ that some of them were going to die. How much control do you really believe you should have?"

"I cannot afford to break down. If I do, what do these people have left?"

Jessie closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cliff. The instant she did, the faces of those she left behind in the dungeons of the castle rose in her mind's eye and their desperate voices called to her again. Jerking her head upright, she opened her eyes and breathed deeply, struggling to still the acid that churned in her stomach. "Then you have to release that control enough to allow yourself to grieve." She gestured to the ledge. "I'm not saying this wasn't a good idea. I suspect you needed to get away for a while . . ."

"I felt as if I could not breathe."

"They meant well. They were only worried about you."

"I know. But I felt as if I was going to explode -"

"And you knew that you couldn't afford to do it in front of them. I understand. But you can't just go wandering off alone. Not here. It's too dangerous. Surely you could have held it together long enough for me to get back."

"I thought you were dead. You said you would be back before the explosives detonated. You did not return, either then or after dawn. And I kept searching for what I would tell Jonny when I got to Bangalore City, and . . ." She trailed off and then after another moment, she added, "I never should have agreed to let you go."

The silence between the two of them stretched until it was almost painful. Finally, Jessie sighed. "Kefira, the deal with the castle . . . it's the reason I'm here. To find ways to clear the path, to help you reach your goals, and to keep you out of trouble. It's my _job_ to be at risk when you can't afford to be."

"No."

_"Yes!_ Just as it's Jonny job to do the same for Hadji. I know this. I won't say I like it, but I understand and accept it. And if that means that either one of us has to -"

__ The response was harsh and cut across Jessie's words like a knife. "We can afford to have neither you nor Jonny lost. Do not ask me to condone an action like the one at the castle again, Jessie, because I will not do it. I will not willingly agree to send you to your death."

"Kefira, I'm fine -"

"You know what I mean! Do not ask it of me, because I cannot . . . will not . . . do it!"

"I know it's hard. But making the hard decisions is what the ruler of a country has to do, and -"

Kefira surged to her feet and stalked off a few paces before turning back to Jessie in fury. "Then I do not want the job! I did not ask to be Sultana of this country and I do not want to be the one who must decide the fates of hundreds of thousands of people. I will not do it any longer!"

Jessie stared at her silently for a long moment. Finally, in a soft voice, she asked, "Then will you renounce your marriage to Hadji and leave it all to him? He can't quit . . . you know that. Will you turn your back on him and just walk away?"

For a long time, the two women just stared at each other in silence. Then Kefira's shoulders slumped and in a pain-soaked whisper, she murmured, "Brahman help me . . ." and she turned to lean her forehead against the cliff face and started to cry once more.

Wearily, Jessie rose and crossed to her. Hugging her tightly, she sighed softly and allowed a few tears of her own to fall. Finally, she pushed the other woman away again and smiled at her. It was a shadow of her old, carefree grin, tinged as it was with pain and the images of the horrors she'd seen over the last several days, but somehow she was still able to dredge it up. "We'll get through this, Kefira. One way or the other. I told Garrett Blackman that I would make my father proud of me, and I will. And I promise you that he will expect me to do that and come out of it standing, so you can use that to ease your mind." After a moment, Kefira nodded. "So what's your choice? Do we keep going?"

Kefira took a deep breath and then used the heels of her hands to rub hard at her eyes. "We go on," she said finally. Then she stared at Jessie seriously. "I cannot walk away from him, Jessie. You know that. I love him."

Jessie smiled again. "I know. And I want something else understood between us, too. You are to believe that I'm dead _**only**_ when someone brings you my body and not before, and I'll do the same for you. That way, there's absolutely no misunderstandings. Agreed?"

Kefira took another deep breath and then she nodded. "Agreed." Then a smile struggled to her lips. "You are right. We will get through this, one way or the other."

"Absolutely. Now, before Mr. Kumar has a heart attack, I suppose we should get back."

"Yes, we should. I left rather abruptly and without telling anyone where I was going. I suspect Mr. Kumar is a bit concerned. Furthermore, we have some planning that must be done before we can leave for Bangalore City, and I want to be off as quickly as possible."

Jessie gestured back toward the far end of the ledge. "After you . . ."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


_It looks like a wave,_ Jessie thought, watching the people around them rise as she and Kefira approached, only to sink back to the ground after they had passed. Shoulder to shoulder, they moved easily through the crowd, the Sipahi lieutenant following about six paces behind. As usual, their progress was slow because Kefira stopped regularly to speak with the people that stood to greet her as she passed. Jessie could see that the word of Kefira's return to the encampment quickly outdistanced their pace and wondered how soon it would be before word reached Tarang Kumar and the Sipahi captain.

She wasn't left to wonder for very long. They had been back in the valley less than 15 minutes when a sudden parting of the throngs of people announced their arrival. Neither man looked very happy.

"Company," Jessie murmured in a low voice to Kefira and then hastily moved forward several paces to block Kumar's belligerent progress toward their location. Behind her, the crowd closed in around their Sultana, obviously sensing the mood of the approaching pair. "Mr. Kumar, it is good to see you again," Jessie greeted him calmly, sketching a slight bow.

He halted about five feet away from her and scowled darkly. "So, it is true . . . you have survived after all," he replied sourly. "I had heard rumors to that effect. Your failure to return distressed the Sultana greatly."

"It must, of course, distress me to upset the Sultana. However, circumstances did not permit me to return to her any sooner."

The tension and fear caused by Kefira's disappearance suddenly clawed free, venting in a burst of anger. "Your job is to protect her!" he snarled. "Not roam the countryside, collecting up a ragtag lot of -"

"My job," Jessie replied in a soft, warning tone, "is to do as the Sultana commands. Yes, part of what she demands of me is that I protect her. However, another part is that I protect her people, wherever and whenever I can. It was that task which delayed me . . . a fact of which you are obviously aware."

"Yes, to the detriment of her safety! And then you take the men we sent to search for her and have them bring your lot of -"

_"Enough!"_ Kefira's voice was cold as she stepped out of the crowd at Jessie's back. "My sister did what was necessary. What would you have had her do, Mr. Kumar? Leave our people in the dungeons to die?"

"It is a question of priorities, Lady," the Sipahi captain said carefully, but with due respect. "A military leader must recognize that there are times they must sacrifice some for the overall safety of all of the others -"

"Which she did," Kefira replied sharply. "She rescued those she could, but I greatly doubt it was everyone imprisoned there. I fully approve of her actions and I will hear no more of it." Gesturing at Jessie as she stepped past her, she said, "Sister, with me please. I want to be ready to move from this place within the hour." Then she shoved past the two stunned men and disappeared into the crowd.

But moving within the hour turned out to be impossible. Mr. Kumar and the Sipahi captain's orders for the people to set fires and rest had been a signal to the encampment and the crowd had settled in. During Kefira's absence, trucks had been unloaded, hearths had been set up, and meals were well underway. In a number of places, tents had even been fashioned from whatever could be found and many had simply crawled into what little shelter they could find and had fallen asleep. Additionally, those with remaining energy had set out for the castle in the hope of scavenging something of value from the still-burning ruins.

The situation was further aggravated by a number of hit-and-run attacks against the border sentries by small bands of Janissary guardsmen. The attacks were brutal and came without warning, leaving seven men dead and another half-dozen wounded, some critically. Jessie increased the guard on the perimeter and sent a group of well-armed men into the surrounding countryside to search for the marauders, but to no avail. Their attackers seemed to vanish like mist, only to reappear out of nowhere, taking a deadly toll when they did. By late afternoon, both Jessie and Kefira were tense and bad-tempered and the crowds that followed them were on the edge of hysteria.

"We can't keep up like this," Jessie finally said to the other woman in exasperation as the two of them stood alone on the cliff edge looking down onto the plateau below. "Those bastards are doing this deliberately . . . trying to make the people that follow you break and run. If this keeps up, they'll succeed."

"But what do we do?" Kefira demanded. "I have tried to get them ready to move again, but Jessie, they are tired. There hasn't been sufficient food to feed them all and many of them have been homeless and drifting for weeks."

"I know. I know. It's the logistics of moving large numbers of people without adequate supply lines. I hadn't anticipated that the Janissaries would've been using a scorched earth policy in the countryside. I relied on our ability to find resources along the way, but they just aren't to be had. Not only is food in short supply, but water's starting to run low, too."

Kefira waved her hand toward the far side of the distant ruin. "Water is available from a natural spring that fed the castle. It is simply a question of getting to it."

"With a group of rogue Janissaries at us? That's just asking for trouble." She was silent for a moment and then she sighed. "But we're not going to have much choice, are we? To be honest, I've been thinking that being out in the open might be a better idea, anyway."

"You have an idea."

"Not an overly productive one," Jessie replied with disgust. "It's more defensive than offensive. The hidden, enclosed nature of this valley with walls on three sides and this cliff on the fourth was a great idea when no one knew we were here, but now that our enemies have discovered us, it's turning into a detriment. The very things that kept us safe and hidden are being turned against us. It's too easy for the enemy to sneak up on us and we're boxed in. Being out in the open might actually be better now."

"We could see them coming," Kefira said thoughtfully.

"Exactly. And with the numbers we have, any open attack would be suicidal."

"So where do you propose we go?"

Jessie waved at the open ground before the ruined castle. "Down there. It puts us closer to the water source." Jessie eyed the mountain peaks that towered above them. "You know, we've been lucky weather-wise so far, but how long is that luck likely to last? We probably need to start thinking about shelter for these people, too."

Kefira sighed. "You are right, certainly. But Jessie, we cannot afford to tarry here. We must move toward Bangalore City as soon as we possibly can. Time is against us. The longer Hadji remains in the city without assistance, the more likely it is that Mr. Birla will capture him, particularly if the Lady Neela is already in his hands. And we must find Jon and Hadji and tell them about Dr. Quest. Mr. Blackman said that it was urgent that all of you return to Maine immediately. It has already been three days since he told us that and we are hardly any closer to finding them than we were when we spoke with him."

"I know! But we can't just -"

A sudden sound from behind them caused both women to spin. Standing about six feet away was one of the Sipahi guardsmen. He bowed respectfully. "I ask your pardon, Excellency, but one has arrived in the camp who wishes to speak with you and your Sword. He is most insistent and bears a token which he claims will explain why he is here."

"What token?" Jessie demanded sharply.

The guardsman stepped forward and dropped an object into Jessie's outstretched hand. Her breath caught sharply and her face turned bleak.

"What is it?" Kefira demanded.

"Jonny's watch."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Anil Thakur stood guard just outside the door and bowed profoundly as Hadji exited. "Excellency."

Hadji paused and nodded at him briefly. "Mr. Thakur. It is good to see you again. You have rested, I trust?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"Good." Then he turned and looked around him. The space was bigger than he anticipated, and as he surveyed it, he realized that it was actually a medium-sized warehouse that had been subdivided into a number of different rooms using blankets, flimsy pieces of wood, and cardboard. The makeshift alcoves ran along the walls of the structure, leaving the center of the building open. On the far side, Hadji could see an assortment of livestock, including some chickens and a goat. As primitive as the arrangement was, it was obvious that it had been occupied in this fashion for a long time.

Not far from the one real room in which Hadji had been resting, he saw a group of women huddled around a hearth. One of the women came forward hesitantly and silently offered him a bowl filled with some type of soup. He smiled at her and nodded his thanks, which caused her to bow her head shyly and skitter back the way she had come.

There were perhaps a dozen men in the room, most of whom Hadji didn't know. All of them had scrambled to their feet upon his entrance and one man now stepped forward and bowed profoundly. "Excellency, I am pleased to see you looking so well."

"Thank you, Mr. Patel. I feel much better for the rest." He flicked his gaze across the men behind him and added, "I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting your companions."

"They are the men who have been leading the resistance here in Bangalore City. All have come to meet with you to plan the next stage of the fight against Mr. Birla and his Janissaries."

Hadji nodded at them. "I am pleased to meet you, gentlemen. We will talk shortly. However, I am told that there is one here who has been asking for me and may have word on the fall of the garrison on the high plateau. I would speak with him first."

Vijay hesitated, and then said, "There is such a one, Excellency, but I am not sure . . ."

"Just bring him to me, Mr. Patel, and I will judge for myself."

"As you wish." Vijay turned and gestured to one of the women, who disappeared into an alcove on the far edge of the warehouse. While he waited, Hadji sipped at the soup he had been handed. It was a thin, lukewarm broth, tasting vaguely of chicken, and it was all Hadji could do not to grimace at the flavor. _Spoiled,_ he said to himself privately. _They do the best for you that they can._

The woman reappeared a few moments later with a child in tow. Pointing to Hadji, she said something to the boy and shoved him in their direction. The boy approached Hadji slowly and when he was about five feet away, he stopped and bowed deeply. Keeping his eyes on the ground, he whispered, "Excellency."

Handing the bowl to Jonny, Hadji stepped forward and knelt in front of the boy. Catching his chin, Hadji tilted his head up so their eyes met and smiled. "They tell me you have been asking for me?"

"Yes, Excellency," the boy whispered and tried to lower his head again. Hadji's smiled widened slightly.

"I do not bite," he assured the boy gently. "What is your name?"

"Hemant Chawla, Excellency."

"And where do you come from, Hemant?"

"Panjal Province."

"You are a long way from home. Why are you here?"

"I was sent, Excellency. First to the Sipahi leaders who watch the fortress on the plateau, and then here to the city in search of you." The more he spoke, the more his shyness seemed to dissipate. Hadji smiled at him encouragingly.

"And who sent you to these places?"

"The Sultana's Sword, Excellency." Hadji stiffened slightly and behind him, he heard Jonny's breath catch and the low murmur of surprise from the other men.

"The Sultana?" Hadji questioned sharply. "You have spoken with her? When?"

"Early on Wednesday morning when she and her Sword arrived in Bangalore. When the Janissaries were seen, they sent me to take word to the Sipahi troops in the hills above the castle. When our army arrived at the garrison, I did not have the chance to see the Sultana again. She was very busy. But all said that she is well. She is with Mr. Kumar and the others, and they would not allow anything bad to happen to her. It was her Sword who sent me to you. That was after the castle had been destroyed."

Hadji could sense the other men listening avidly as he asked, "You saw the castle destroyed?"

"Yes, Excellency. " The boy's grin was savage. "It blew up . . . stone and earth and bodies going everywhere. It was wonderful." Hadji winced inwardly at that blood-thirsty comment. _He has reason to take joy in the violent destruction of his enemies,_ he reminded himself sharply. Forcibly, he made himself focus on what the boy was saying. " . . . and it burned for a long time with all of the soldiers inside . . . they burned, just like my friends at Mr. Subramanian's house." The fierce light in his eyes seemed to die in that instant, and Hadji saw a shudder move through his small frame as horror and pain struggled to come to the surface. Reaching out, Hadji captured the boy in his arms and hugged him. After a moment, the child's arms stole around his neck and Hemant clung to him tightly. Rubbing his face in the soft hair, he said quietly, "You have done very well, Hemant. I have just a few more questions and then you can rest." Reluctantly, the boy nodded and stepped away from Hadji again. "Now, you have spoken several times of the Sultana's Sword. Who is this person?"

"She is the Sultana's American sister . . . the Lady Jessica Bannon. The people have named her the Sultana's Sword because she stands before the Sultana and prevents anyone from doing her harm." The boy's eyes became almost fanatically bright. "She has hair like fire and eyes that can see through lies, and she brings the wrath of Kali down on any who would try to hurt our Lady. They say she cannot be defeated, Excellency! They say she has fought men twice her size in hand-to-hand combat and has bested all who have opposed her and that she has powers granted by the Gods!"

"It seems 'they' say a great deal," Hadji commented dryly. When he glanced up at Jonny, he found him grinning widely.

"Sounds like Jess," he said in amusement. "Hell on wheels."

"It was she that set me to watch the approaches to the mine where we were hiding and then sent me to the Sipahi troops on the plateau to warn of the Sultana's coming." The boy's expression suddenly turned angry. "They did not wish to believe . . . claimed that your lady wife could not be Sultana! I told them -"

Hadji laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Peace, Hemant. They were simply ill-prepared for your news. Now, you said that the Lady Jessica sent you on to the city? When was this? And what did she wish you to do?"

"Early this morning, just after the castle had blown up." The boy licked his lip, suddenly looking uneasy. "You see, she made the Sultana let her go alone into the castle. The Sultana did not wish her to go . . . commanded her to find someone else to go in her place. But the Sword refused, saying she was the only one with the skill to do this thing. She said that we would have lost too many people trying to attack the castle openly." The boy gazed at Hadji anxiously. "We would have followed the Sultana into battle, Excellency, no matter what the cost! We are not afraid to fight or to die for either of you!"

"I know that, Hemant, and so does the Sultana," Hadji assured him hastily, cringing inwardly. "So the Lady Jessica went to blow up the castle all by herself . . ."

"Yes, but you see, I knew that she would need help. So I followed . . ."

Hadji closed his eyes and shook his head in horror. A child, in the middle of that nest of vipers. "And what did she say to you when she discovered that you had done this?"

The boy hung his head. "She was very angry, Excellency."

"Yes, I imagine that she was. She would not have wanted you to risk yourself on her behalf."

"No. But it was good that I did, because if I had not, I do not believe she would have been able to free the prisoners from the castle before it blew up. I was able to distract the guards so that she could get into the dungeons and then diverted others so that she could lead the captives to safety." Hemant paused and the expression on his face and the shaking tone of his voice stilled everyone in the room. "It was a very bad place, Excellency." Then the boy shook his head. "We could not get everyone out . . . only those that could move on their own. We barely got those away before the castle blew up."

Hadji hung his head and sighed heavily. Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up in time to see Jonny bow to the boy. "I thank you for the care of my lady, Hemant. I owe you a very great debt."

Hemant stared back at Jonny in awe. "The Sword is your wife?"

"No, not yet, but she is my . . . I am betrothed to her."

Stepping back, Hemant returned Jonny's bow with great dignity. "I am happy that I was able to serve." Then he looked back at Hadji again. "Once we were free of the castle and safely back into the hills, the Sword told me that I had done well in my first assignment for her and that she wished me to go to the city to try to locate you. If I was able to do so, I was to tell you that the Sultana and her troops are moving on the city and that they will be with you shortly. I was also to give you this." Pulling something from the pocket of his pants, he laid it in Hadji's hands.

"A radio set!" Jonny exclaimed, looking over Hadji's shoulder.

Hadji looked up. "Can we reach them with this?"

"Depends," Jonny replied, reaching out and taking it from his brother. "How far did you say the castle was from here?"

"About a hundred miles or so."

Jonny shook his head, examining the unit. "This is a short-range set used for surveillance gigs. It will never get that kind of distance. I might be able to modify it, though, if there's a stronger unit we could use as a repeater."

Hadji looked up at Vijay. "Mr. Patel, is there a radio anywhere that we can get access to?"

Vijay glanced at one of the men who stood nearby and then looked back. "Yes, Excellency, I believe there is. It was a unit taken from the Janissaries in the fighting not long ago."

"Good. Get it and bring it here to my brother. Since it appears my wife has a fighting force that may be of aid to us, we will attempt to get in contact with them." He smiled at the boy in front of him again as he rose. "You have done very well, Hemant. I wish for you to return to where you had been waiting and get some rest."

"I can fight, Excellency!"

"I am sure that you can, and I may have a role for you to play, yet. But to be effective you must be ready. There is nothing I need you to do now, so you must take advantage of this opportunity to rest."

The boy seemed to think about that for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, Excellency. It is just as the Sword has said before." Then he bowed and retreated.

"Jess seems to have made a strong impression on him," Jonny murmured softly as they both watched the boy cross the room.

"Yes, she has." Hadji sighed and his shoulders slumped. The look he gave his brother was bleak as he said softly, "An army of peasants and children . . ."

"Who greatly outnumber our enemy and have a will to fight that borders on the fanatical. That's one hell of an advantage. What we have to do is find a way to utilize them effectively without putting them at too great of a risk."

"I know you are right, but that makes it no easier. See if you can get that radio working. I want to speak with Kefira as soon as possible." Jonny nodded as Hadji turned to the others. "Mr. Patel, is there somewhere that we can all sit and talk? I believe it is now time for us to begin planning for the assault on the Palace."

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


It was nearing 2:00 p.m. when Jonny joined Hadji and the resistance leaders again. They were all sitting on the floor in a large circle near the center of the warehouse. Stopping behind and to one side of his brother, Jonny reached down and handed him the modified communication device. "Well, the captured radio is mounted on the top of the tallest building in the area, it's frequency is tuned to this one, and they're communicating. I didn't dare change the frequency it's operating on. Jess and Kefira would have no reason to be hunting on other bands, so we can only hope that any communication we manage to establish won't be picked up by the enemy." He glanced around at the other men in the room. "Anyone know if they have a high-powered radio setup in the palace?"

"Not that I am . . ." Hadji began, but Vijay cut him off.

"Yes. The Janissaries brought one with them when they set up headquarters in the palace."

Jonny shook his head. "Which means that even if we do make contact with them, we don't dare try to plan strategy because we are sure to be overhead. What's more, we really shouldn't even attempt to contact them until we're ready to move out of here. The Janissaries are trained soldiers. You can bet the instant they realize who we are they'll be trying to triangulate a fix on our position."

Hadji sighed softly. "You are right, of course. I believe this is an advantage we should not publicize until it can be of the most use."

Jonny nodded and looked down at the papers spread out on the ground in front of Hadji and the resistance leaders. "Palace floor plans. Cool. How'd you manage to come up with those?"

"Mr. Patel was able to steal them from the palace archives some weeks ago," Hadji replied. "They are not complete, of course, but they serve us well."

"I believed they might be of use," Vijay added quietly. "Furthermore, I felt that something this valuable should not be in Birla's hands, particularly when he began to search for access to the hidden passages with so much determination."

"Makes sense. So what's the plan?"

Hadji gestured in frustration as the men shifted to make room for Jonny in their circle. "There isn't one. At least, not a good one. As you are already aware, there are only two entrances to the palace and I am assured that both are very heavily guarded both inside and out. Trying to take the palace is going to be very similar to launching an assault on a medieval fortress. The only difference is that we have no catapults and they have modern weapons!"

Jonny leaned forward, flipping through the exploded drawings of the various wings. He frowned thoughtfully at one of the drawings and then gestured at Hadji. "You have a pen?" Hadji shook his head, but one of the other men reached out and handed Jonny a stubby, well-worn pencil. He nodded his thanks and flipped back to the main drawing. "Okay, I planted explosives here, here, here, and all along here," he said, marking the drawing with X's and circling a corridor. "That's the throne room, Birla's quarters, one of the upper-level Janissary barracks, and about every 100 to 150 yards along a secondary interior corridor leading toward the front gates. They were small charges . . . at least the ones along the corridor. I wanted to minimize the risk of injury to innocent people as much as I could, so it's unlikely there's any major structural damage in that area. But I deliberately set the charges to blow the hell out of the other three locations. If the walls and ceilings didn't come down in Birla's quarters and the Janissary barracks, I'll be really surprised."

Hadji eyed the locations thoughtfully. "What are you thinking?"

Jonny shrugged. "I'm not sure. What are the odds there's enough of value in the rubble to make Birla set people to trying to clear the mess?"

"The throne room . . . perhaps. There were a number of valuable pieces of artwork and some heirlooms that symbolized the Sultancy. I can see him wanting to have them if they were intact."

"And they might be. I didn't try to obliterate that room."

"Why did you blow it up, anyway," one of the resistance leaders asked with a touch of belligerence. "It was part of our heritage."

Jonny gave the man a hard look. "That may be. But Birla's set himself up as Sultan and one of the things he's doing is sitting on the throne and holding audiences with people. My goals in setting those charges were two-fold. One, I needed a distraction to give us time to get out of the palace. And two, I wanted a shot at getting rid of Birla. At the time, the two most likely places to find him were the throne room and his quarters. It was a calculated risk that failed, but it was worth a try." 

"I still don't see what this means," Hadji interrupted.

"I'm trying to figure where he's likely to be concentrating manpower inside the palace."

"He won't be using Janissaries for that kind of work," another of the leaders objected. "He'll be using the palace staff."

Jonny arched an eyebrow quizzically. "Will he? I wonder. Birla strikes me as the kind that goes paranoid under pressure." He glanced at his brother and then pointed at him with the pencil. "So far, he knows that he's been watched by you from within the palace, that you killed his chief executioner literally under his nose and then escaped . . . unscathed, as far as he is aware. He's also been attacked by the people at the front gate at least twice, and his own quarters and various other locations in the palace he thought he held securely have been bombed."

"Do not forget that he is also under threat of invasion by U.N. peacekeeping forces, the Indian and U.S. governments are calling loudly for him to produce Kefira and me, and by this time Father and Race are probably demanding access to the country," Hadji added.

"All of which is putting the man under tremendous pressure. I'm guessing that he's not sure who he can trust any longer. And knowing the man's personality, I would say that probably means that he's putting his faith where his money is. I'd guess most of the palace staff have probably been relegated to the dungeon and it is being held almost solely by the Janissaries, whose loyalty he figures he's bought."

Hadji nodded slowly. "That makes sense. But I still do not see your point."

Jonny rapped on the floor plans sharply. "My point is that this is a huge palace and by this time, I'd think Birla's forces are starting to be spread a little thin. Yes, the Janissary Corp are the cream of the crop when it comes to soldiers, but think about it. That group has been in decline since the end of Suleiman's reign. In today's world, mercenary soldiering is not considered an honorable career any longer. And it shows by the tactics these men have used. They've seemed overwhelming and invincible. Why? Numbers? No! Their numbers _can't_ be that big. Rather, they've seemed that way because of their reputation, their tactics, and their visibility. But we've been steadily depleting their numbers. Jess and Kefira took out a large number of them when they took out that garrison. We took out several in the fight at the back gate of the palace, the odds are good I got a bunch of them when I blew up the barracks in the palace, and the people have eliminated some in the street fighting."

"The Sword and our people took out many of them in the fighting at the Sultana's family mine," Hemant volunteered, materializing at Hadji's shoulder. "And those that were not killed, surrendered and were sent out of the country by the Sultana."

"More gone. Mr. Patel, do you have any idea how large the Janissary numbers were at the beginning?"

Vijay shook his head. "No. All anyone knew was that when they arrived they seemed to be everywhere."

Jonny nodded. "Visibility again, but not necessarily overwhelming numbers."

"I take your point," Hadji said patiently, "but you are avoiding my question. What are you thinking?"

Jonny leaned back and propped himself up on his hands. "I'm thinking we should take a lesson from the Sultana's Sword. You say there's only two entrances to the palace. I disagree. I say there's another one . . . one we've used recently."

"You are thinking of going over the walls into the old section of the palace again?" Hadji demanded. "Jon, that will not work. We are sure to be spotted and the Janissaries will be able to pick us off at their leisure."

"No, listen. We go in at night, just like we did the first time." He glanced around the circle of men. "I take it you've been keeping watch on the palace?" They all nodded. "So you know what the guard schedule is on the outer walls." Again they nodded. "You said they guard the doors from both the inside and out. How often do the inner guards communicate with ones on the doors at the tradesmen's entrance at the back of the palace?"

One of the men shrugged. "Occasionally, but I do not believe it is done on a regular schedule."

"Good. Then this is what I propose. As soon as darkness falls, we begin to move into the hills on the back side of the palace. Then a small team takes out the guards on the exterior near the back door, preferably right after the guard changes, giving us as much time as possible before we can expect anyone to come replace them. Then, we post men at either corner to keep an eye out to warn us if anyone is coming and we take a group of men over the wall into the old section of the palace. From there, that group moves through the passageways and eliminates the guards on the interior at the back door. Once we hold that, we can funnel men into the palace in much larger numbers."

"But once they are inside, they will have to fight for every foot of corridor they gain against Janissaries. Small numbers can hold a great amount of territory if they have the advantage of cover, and inside the palace, they will have that advantage."

"Not if we hit them simultaneously throughout the palace with no warning."

Hadji blinked, staring at his brother with sudden comprehension. "The hidden passageways."

Jonny nodded. "We have a good staging area in the abandoned sections of the palace and they are readily accessible through a relatively short passageway from the back door. We get the strike team inside, eliminate the guards at the back door, open it up and shunt our fighting men in that door, through the passageway and into the abandoned sections of the palace. From there, we can move them quietly through the passageways to strategic locations and get them in place for the fight. Then we wait."

"For what?" one of the resistance leaders exclaimed, excitement lighting his face. "We would be in a perfect position to strike!"

Jonny grinned. "For reinforcements. I suggest we take _all_ of our people into the palace to strike from within." He glanced over at the boy who still stood at Hadji's shoulder. "Hemant, could you get back to the Sultana and her Sword? Carry a message for _us_ this time?"

The boy nodded eagerly. "Yes!"

"Then I suggest that we send him back to Kefira with this plan, a timetable, and word to contact us via the radio at a set time with the answer to one simple question -- 'Can you have your forces in the city and surrounding the palace by a specific time?' Her response will be either 'yes' or 'no', and if it's no, then the hour they can be in place. A radio broadcast that short won't be traceable even by the best of equipment. In fact, they may not even catch the transmission at all. It gives us the advantage of being able to use the radio again to signal the actual attack. With Jess and Kefira hitting them from the outside and us striking at them from inside, we have the chance of taking the palace quickly and with a minimum of loss." 

"That could work," Hadji said thoughtfully, "provided we can get everyone into place quickly and we can keep the plan from leaking to those in the palace."

Jonny grinned. "Keeping the plan quiet won't be that much of a problem, I don't think. The advantage Birla's gained by barricading himself into the palace is also a disadvantage. He's cut himself off from the word on the street. I think we'll just position a few men around the palace with orders to make sure no one gets the urge to come out to see what's going on. What kind of weaponry we do have?"

"We have submachine guns!" one of the resistance leaders offered proudly.

Hadji's head snapped up sharply. "What!? Where did you get those?"

"Some were taken from our enemy," the man replied. "Others we have bartered for and had smuggled into the country when the Janissaries began appearing. We knew that eventually we would have to protect ourselves and our families so we set about getting the arms to be able to do that."

"Good," Jonny said hastily, seeing his brother's face. "We can be grateful you had the foresight to be prepared. How many men can you put around the perimeter to pen them in?"

The man thought for a moment. "Perhaps 30 if we want them to have an ample supply of ammunition. Double that, if you wish to spread the ammunition more thinly."

Jonny nodded. "Select 30 men who can consistently hit what they aim at and get them ready. How much time do we have before the U.N. troops begin moving in?"

"The deadline is 8:00 a.m. Monday morning, our time," Vijay said quietly.

"Which means we need to have this wrapped up by mid-day on Sunday if at all possible. We want time before that deadline to get the borders open so that we can let U.N. inspectors and the media in here. Cut it any closer than that and we run the risk of a conflict with the peacekeeping forces." Jonny looked over at Hadji. "So what do you think?"

Hadji stared silently at the floor plans in front of him for a long moment and then sighed heavily and nodded. "It will have to do." Rising to his feet, he looked at his brother and said, "I leave the arrangements in your hands. When do you wish to start moving?"

"We'll leave here around nightfall. It'll take us time to get everyone in place without alerting our enemies," Jonny replied. Hadji nodded and then turned away. "Where are you going?"

"I must speak with my mother."


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter Forty-nine**

  
"And that's where things stand right now," Barbara said, two days after the arrival of the Subramanian children at the Quest home. "Garrett and Stan returned to Boston the next morning. Garrett said he had an idea, although he wouldn't elaborate on what that was, and indicated he would continue to pressure the Indian government. When I left this morning, Race was talking to Bennett about expediting green cards for the children, and Paul Bussac left when I did." She shook her head. "To be honest, I was glad to see him go." 

Estella grimaced as she shifted uneasily in her hospital bed. "Can't say I'm surprised to hear you say that. Race's spook friends always gave me the willies."

"It's not that. He's off on a serious guilt trip about helping Jessie and Kefira get into Bangalore, even though Race emphasized time and again that there was nothing else he could have done. Race also insisted that he stay at the Compound, which he was decidedly unhappy about."

Estella chuckled slightly. "They're all alike. Can't stand to be cooped up and away from the action." 

Barbara rolled her eyes. "That's for sure. When he wasn't snapping at everyone within hearing distance, he was on the phone trying to pressure the military to intervene."

"No luck, I take it."

"No. Information is still too sketchy and the government is very reluctant to move without something more definitive than rumors. The U.N. Security Council deadline is still in place and just this morning, India announced even more severe trade sanctions. They also shut down the Bangalorian Embassy. But at this point, it's still just posturing. So, Bussac kept pushing and yelling until Race was just about at the end of his rope . . . not to mention the children. I'll tell you, I was about ready to kick him out myself - Maia and Vassey couldn't have handled that environment for much longer."

Estella gave her a worried look. "I know, but what will he do now? If he's that much of a loose cannon . . ."

"If you can believe Bussac, he's on his way to Langley. He said that if the bureaucrats need proof, he was going to get it for them. When I asked Race what that meant, he told me that he was pretty sure that the CIA was doing satellite reconnaissance of Bangalore by now and that Bussac means to pressure someone into leaking the pictures to him. Right before I left the house, I heard Race on the phone telling someone to watch Bussac to make sure he didn't do anything stupid."

"I know he could cause a lot of trouble, but at least he seems to want to do something to help."

Barbara's smile was somewhat grim. "Oh, he's going to do something, all right. He told Race that once he finished at Langley, he was going to Delhi. I think he intends to recruit some men, cross the border into Bangalore, and go after Jessie and Kefira."

"Unless the bigwigs at I-1 get wind of it and decide to stop him," Estella replied bitterly. She shifted once more, trying to find a more comfortable position and then sighed heavily. "That's not fair. They'd be right to stop him. The whole situation is a powder keg. They can't risk an international incident just to save our kids, no matter how much we might want them to."

"I know. I'm sure they'll be all right, Estella. Try not to worry . . . "

Estella snorted but instead of commenting, she asked, "How's Benton doing?"

Barbara stared at her lap as she shook her head. "Not well. Fundamental memories are gone now. Most of the time he doesn't even recognize the house. He can't work any longer. The equipment in his lab is totally unfamiliar to him . . . he doesn't remember developing or installing any of it, so he has no clue how to use it. And he can't retain anything long enough to relearn how to operate it either. He just drifts from room to room, getting more and more agitated, as though searching for something he can't quite find. It breaks my heart . . ."

Barbara's voice cracked sharply and the silence between the two women was filled with pain. Finally Estella asked gently, "Does he remember you?"

"N-no. Whenever he runs into me in the house, he asks who I am. I've finally just taken to telling him I'm his doctor. That seems to upset him less than telling him I'm an old friend . . . and it usually prevents him from asking me if I've seen Rachel."

"Oh Barbara . . ."

"Maia follows him everywhere he goes," Barbara interrupted ruthlessly, refusing to accept Estella's sympathy. She knew that if she did, the wall of professional detachment she had tried to build around herself would crumble and she would be lost. "It's all I can do to get her away from him long enough to shower and change clothes. She even sleeps curled up at the foot of his bed." 

Estella watched the other woman for a moment and then barely nodded, accepting Barbara's need for control. 

"It's so strange to watch them, Estella. It's almost like he's the child and she's the adult. When he gets upset and frightened at all the strangeness, she talks to him in this calm, quiet voice that seems to get through to him in a way none of the rest of us can. When he starts to tire, she'll take him by the hand, lead him to a chair or the sofa, tell him what she wants him to do, and he'll do it without argument. She's also gotten him to eat . . . something that Race and I haven't been able to do in days."

"He hasn't been eating?" Estella asked sharply, straightening a bit.

"Not regularly. It's as though he forgets to do it. If you tell him it's time to eat and he's hungry, he'll do it. But if you say something when he _isn't_ hungry or he's when distracted, all he does is get upset and refuse totally. Maia just seems to sense when he's receptive and can coax him into it."

"How are she and Srinivasan doing?"

Barbara shrugged helplessly. "Maia seems collected enough, but she's so poker-faced that it's hard to tell what she's thinking. She could be a shattered wreck inside and you'd never know it. As for Vassey . . . it's easier to tell how traumatized he is. For one thing, he won't talk. He'll nod or shake his head, and he makes noises . . . cries, whimpers, that sort of thing . . . but you can't get a word out of him. Maia assures us that he knows how to talk, but he just won't do it, not even for her. And try to separate him from Race and he goes to pieces." Barbara bent down and pulled a couple of pieces of paper from her purse and handed them to Estella. "I thought you might like to have these."

Estella gazed at the three pictures of Race and Srinivasan for a long time. When she finally looked up again, Barbara saw the tears that filled her eyes. "I was always sorry I never gave him a son."

Barbara smiled and squeezed her arm gently. "You still may . . ."

Estella shook her head. "Not unless I have another child. Even if this one lives, it's a girl. Dr. Eftekari told me that yesterday."

"You know he won't care."

"No. But I know he's always wanted a son of his own."

Barbara sighed softly at her look. "I really am afraid that this one is it, Estella. I doubt you'll ever be able to conceive again."

"I know."

After a few moments, Barbara took a deep breath and said, "I probably should go. Race wants to come this afternoon and I've got to clear the way for him."

"Clear the way?"

"I told you, Vassey won't let him out of his sight. And hospital policy says that a child his age isn't allowed on the ward unless they are immediate family . . . which Vassey isn't. So I've got to go find someone who can pull some strings."

Estella's hand flashed out and caught Barbara's arm, stopping her before she could rise. "How is he?" she demanded. "Whenever I ask, he says he's fine, but . . ."

Barbara contemplated the question for a moment. Reluctantly, she admitted, "He's tired, Estella. Bone tired and feeling totally helpless. Everyone needs him and there just isn't enough of him to go around." Then she smiled slightly. "Surprisingly enough, Vassey seems to have helped. I know he's another responsibility, but he's one that Race can do something about. He needed some way to feel as though he was making a difference and with Vassey, he does." Patting Estella's hand gently, she stood. "I'm going to go finish taking care of things here so I can get back to the house and Race can head down. We don't leave Benton alone any longer, even with Maia looking after him."

"Tell Race he doesn't need to come . . ."

Barbara smiled with the first real humor she'd felt in a long while. "Don't be an idiot," she said fondly. "You've kept him away ever since you were admitted. He can't stand it any longer. I'll see you again tomorrow." Then, waving goodbye, she walked out of the door.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Well, that's one good thing, at any rate," Race said with a sigh.

Admiral Charles Bennett gazed at the white-haired man with a grim expression. "Permanent resident visas for those two children are the least of your problems, Race, and you know it. The situation in Bangalore is about ready to explode. You're absolutely certain that Hadji and the others are in-country?"

Race leaned back, shifting Vassey into a more comfortable position. The child immediately went limp, collapsing against his chest like dead weight, a tactic the child had perfected over the past couple of days. Race sighed again and said gently, "Come on, Vassey, just sit up a little. My arm's going to sleep." The child stirred, sitting up a little, but still stayed glued to Race's chest with his head tucked under the older man's chin. Race shook his head slightly and then rubbed the top of the child's head with his cheek consolingly before replying to Bennett's question.

"I have no doubt they're all four in Bangalore by this time. Jess was convinced that Jonny and Hadji were already there, and she said it was she and Kefira's intention to leave immediately to go after them. If Jess said that's where they were going, then that's where they went."

"And you haven't heard from any of them since."

"No."

"They've still got the border sealed, but signs seem to indicate that the Janissary hold may be weakening. There are fewer people slipping through into India, but Ethan's informants say it seems to be because fewer people want out rather than the Janissary stranglehold tightening."

Race frowned. "Any reliable information coming out of the country?"

Bennett shook his head. "No, nothing solid. Just rumors, which run the gamut from 'the Singhs are dead and the sultancy has fallen', to 'the House of Singh has risen again to crush their enemies', and everything in between. Ethan and I have been pushing for permission to send a reconnaissance team in on a fact-finding venture, but the President won't okay it. Says it would step on the toes of the U.N. and risk an international incident if they were caught."

Race leaned his head back and closed his eyes wearily. "No surprise there, and I can't blame him. If I were in his place, I probably wouldn't authorize anything, either. Satellite reconnaissance photos of the area?"

Bennett shrugged. "There's something going on, that's for certain. Bangalore's in a pretty remote area and it's off the standard spy tracks so we haven't been able to get anything very detailed. Landsat picked up what we think was fighting in the northern mountains just before dawn yesterday. Ethan's people say there's evidence of high explosives being used in the fighting, but he also admits that the same damage might have been caused by a mining explosion gone bad. There's also large numbers of people massing and moving down out of the mountains toward a highland plateau about 100 miles outside of the capital city."

"An army of some kind?"

"An army?" Bennett replied with a snort. "What kind of army? They have no source of arms and no one to lead them. The boys from Defense offer the idea that the people are finally moving toward the city because the Janissaries are starving them out. But as I say, it's all conjecture. We don't have any real idea of what's going on over there. You're sure you have no way of getting hold of any of your kids?"

"No. They're totally out of touch and have been for days. The only reason there was any contact with Jess was because she called us, and then I didn't have the chance to speak with her. I was gone when she called. I have spoken with the man who owns the house they called from, but he doesn't know any more than what she told us . . . that Jonny and Hadji are in Bangalore and that she and Kefira were going in after them."

"How's Dr. Quest taking all of this?"

Race hesitated. "He doesn't know," he finally replied reluctantly.

"Doesn't _know_? How can he not know? It's all over the news and with the kids missing . . ."

"He doesn't know the kids are missing," Race replied firmly. "He hasn't been well recently and Barbara advised that we minimize stress wherever we can. So I'm keeping him away from the TV and newspapers. As for the kids, he thinks they're off at school, so he doesn't expect them to be here, anyway."

Bennett shook his head. "What a mess. Well, I'll certainly keep you informed of anything I hear and I'd appreciate it if you would let me know if any of them contact you."

Race nodded. "I will, Admiral, thank you. And thanks for the help with the visas for Maia and Vassey. That's a real load off of my mind."

"No problem. With Kefira officially recognized as an American citizen now and the circumstances being what they were, it wasn't difficult to get the boys at Immigration and Naturalization to see things my way. Oh, and I meant to ask, how's Estella doing?"

"Barbara finally hospitalized her. The toxemia is getting worse and the specialist is saying that he doesn't think he can hold off much longer. They're going to have to take the baby."

"Damn!" Bennett swore softly. "God, Race, I'm sorry . . ."

The younger man smiled, but his voice was slightly bitter as he replied, "When it rains, it pours. What can you say?"

"MR. BANNON, MAIA SUBRAMANIAN IS ASKING FOR YOU," IRIS broke in. "THE MATTER IS URGENT."

Race sat up abruptly. "Sorry, Admiral, but that's my cue. I gotta go."

"Go. I'll let you know if I hear anything."

Race slapped the disconnect for the vid-phone and stood swiftly. "Where are they, IRIS?"

"IN THE RECEPTION AREA OF THE LIGHTHOUSE. MAIA SUBRAMANIAN HAS REQUESTED THAT I LOCK THE DOORS AND NOT ALLOW DR. QUEST TO LEAVE. AT THE PRESENT, HE IS EXTREMELY AGITATED AND I HAVE COMPLIED WITH HER REQUEST."

"Don't let him out and let Maia know I'm on my way." As if Vassey could read his mind, he tightened his grip around Race's neck into a stranglehold, refusing to allow himself to be set on the floor. Cursing silently to himself, he shifted the boy to one hip and ran for the lighthouse.

As he erupted out of the house, the wind swirled around him and he suddenly realized that the earlier sunshine had given way to cold rain. In his arms, he could feel Vassey shiver. As Race crossed the wide expanse of lawn, he wrapped his arms tightly around the child in an attempt to shield him from as much of the rain as possible, and cursed himself for not grabbing a jacket for the boy. _Hadji and Kefira won't be pleased if he has pneumonia when they get back,_ he berated himself. Ducking into the scanty shelter offered by the wall of the lighthouse, he called, "IRIS, unlock the door and open it!" A sharp click heralded the release of the locking mechanism and latch and Race pulled the door open hastily and ducked inside. As it swung shut again, Race heard the locking mechanism engage once more.

The reception area of the lighthouse was brightly lit and Race immediately saw Maia standing in the middle of the room. She looked totally lost, and Benton was nowhere in sight.

"Maia?" She turned at the sound of his voice and he saw that she was crying. "What happened? Where's Benton?" Crossing to her, he drew her to one of the sofas and made her sit down.

She gulped and rubbed at her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears. "He - he has been so u-upset today."

"It's okay," he told her consolingly as he sat down beside her. "Just take it easy." With a deft movement, he slid Vassey down onto the sofa between them. At first, the boy whimpered and reached for him again, but quieted when Race slipped an arm around him. "Do you know where Benton is?"

Tears came again almost immediately, streaming down her face as she shook her head.

"That's okay, honey. Don't cry. It will be easy to find him." Releasing Vassey, he stroked her hair gently as he said, "IRIS, where's Benton?"

"DR. QUEST IS CURRENTLY IN THE SECOND FLOOR LABORATORY." The computer almost seemed to hesitate, and then added, "HE APPEARS TO BE IN A HIGHLY CONFUSED STATE. HE HAS ATTEMPTED TO ACCESS SEVERAL PIECES OF EQUIPMENT, BUT DOES NOT APPEAR TO KNOW HOW TO OPERATE THEM."

"Lock him out, IRIS. Shut down all equipment and deactivate all of his access codes. He is not to be allowed to access to any equipment or program without my express permission."

There was a long pause and then IRIS replied neutrally, "UNABLE TO COMPLY. RESTRICTION OF ACCESS TO THAT LEVEL VIOLATES SYSTEM INTEGRITY."

Race sighed and thought for a moment. "Activate security protocol theta, authorization Bannon 473 Mark 5 Alpha 8."

"VOICE RECOGNITION PATTERN CONFIRMED. AUTHORIZATION CODE ALPHA CONFIRMED. SECURITY PROTOCOL THETA INITIATED. PLEASE PLACE YOUR LEFT HAND ON THE RECOGNITION PANEL AND STATE YOUR FULL NAME AND TITLE." Releasing Vassey, he rose swiftly and crossed to a computer workstation located near the door. Placing his left hand on the screen, he replied, "Roger Thomas Bannon, Chief of Security and co-Senior Partner of Quest Enterprises, Incorporated, Rockport, Maine."

"PLEASE SPECIFY PRECISE NAME AND TITLE OF EACH OF THE PRIMARY STOCKHOLDERS OF THE ENTITY KNOWN AS THE QUEST CHARITABLE TRUST."

"Benton Christopher Quest, Director and Senior Research Scientist; Jonathan Benton Quest, Junior Research Technician and youngest son of Dr. Benton Christopher Quest, Director and Senior Research Scientist; Hadji Singh, Scientific Research Technician, and eldest son of Dr. Benton Christopher Quest, Director and Senior Research Scientist; Roger Thomas Bannon, Chief of Security and co-Senior Partner of Quest Enterprises; and Jessica Marie Velasquez Bannon, Junior Research Technician and daughter of Roger Thomas Bannon, Chief of Security and co-Senior Partner of Quest Enterprises."

"HAND PRINT VERIFIED. VOICE PRINT VERIFIED. ACCESS CODE INFORMATION VERIFIED. IDENTITY CONFIRMED. SECURITY PROTOCOL THETA ACCESSED."

"Create a new process for initial access to all Compound systems."

"PARAMETERS?"

"Initial access. Voice print verification, hand print verification, and password required. Set password to -" He paused, thinking for a moment, and then finished, "- Rajeev1."

"WORKING. REPLACE CURRENT ACCESS PROTOCOLS WITH NEW PROCESS?"

"No. This will be in addition to the existing protocols."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. SPECIFY INDIVIDUALS TO HAVE ACCESS."

"Race Bannon, Estella Velasquez-Bannon, Barbara Mason, Jonathan Quest, Jessica Bannon, Hadji Singh, Kefira Subram- . . . correction, Kefira Singh, Maia Subramanian, and Srinivasan Subramanian."

"IS BENTON QUEST TO BE ADDED TO ACCESS LIST?"

"No."

"WORKING." After a moment, she continued. "UNABLE TO COMPLY. SYSTEM OPERATION RELIES ON BENTON QUEST HAVING ACCESS TO ALL LEVELS. PROGRAM INTEGRITY IS VIOLATED IF A PROGRAM IS CREATED WHICH LIMITS BENTON QUEST'S ACCESS."

"God damn it!" Race snarled in frustration. Finally, he sighed. "Alright, IRIS, add him to the access list."

"WORKING. NEW ACCESS PROTOCOL HAS BEEN CREATED. ENCRYPTED E-MAIL NOTICES SENT TO ALL AUTHORIZED USERS. PLEASE SPECIFY IMPLEMENTATION TIME AND DATE."

"Immediately."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING." After a few moments, IRIS added, "NEW PROTOCOL HAS BEEN ESTABLISHED AND IS IN OPERATION."

When Race had risen to cross the room, Vassey had cried out and tried to follow him, however Maia had held him back, making him remain on the sofa while Race worked at the computer. By the time Race finished what he was doing, the child was struggling violently against his sister's attempts to hold him in place, and he was screaming and crying wildly. As Race turned back to the pair, he gestured to Maia to let Vassey go and the boy shot off of the sofa, running toward him. As Race gathered him up, cuddling him and crooning soothingly, a harsh voice interrupted.

"What are you doing to that child?!?"

Race whirled and spotted Benton standing about a third of the way down the spiral staircase that led to the second floor, having obviously been drawn by the sound of the child's cries. He clutched the metal railing in a grip that turned his entire fist white and his eyes were dark with fury. His face was thin and far too pale, and his eyes glittered unnaturally, as a host of emotions flickered across his face. Looking at him, Race immediately understood what had caused Maia's frantic call for help.

"I asked you what you're doing!" Benton demanded again, descending the stairs in an abrupt rush.

"Nothing, Benton," Race replied in a calming voice. "Just take it easy." He rocked Vassey soothingly, and the boy's frantic sobbing slowly stilled to little more than soft whimpers. As the child calmed down, Benton's fury seemed to drain away, leaving him totally confused and disoriented. Looking at Race, he said hesitantly, "I - I don't know this place. Where am I?"

Patiently, Race replied, "You're at home . . . in the lab. We're at the Compound in Maine, remember?"

"M-Maine? That can't be right. I - I don't live in Maine. I live in -" He stopped, looking even more confused. "I live in . . . in . . . Why can't I remember where I live?" His voice rose sharply, his inability to remember upsetting him even further. "Rachel. Where's Rachel? None of this makes sense!" Suddenly he looked at Race sharply. "And who are you? I don't know you! What the hell is going on here?!?"

Race stared at his long-time friend wordlessly. _Oh God,_ Race thought numbly. _He doesn't know me anymore . . ._ Taking a hard breath, he said carefully. "Benton, calm down. You're getting upset and making things worse. You know me . . . I've lived with you and the boys for over ten years now. I'm Race, remember?"

"Race?" He paused, as if searching his memory trying to place the name. Finally, he said hesitantly, "Bannon? Is that right?"

"Yes, Race Bannon," he agreed, nodding.

Benton looked at him with the expression of a bewildered child. "Where's Rachel? Why can't I find her? I - I've looked everywhere . . ."

Pain as sharp as a knife twisted his gut into knots, causing him to close his eyes briefly. Oh God, not again . . . "I'm sorry, Benton, but she's dead. She died a long time ago . . . before we moved here . . ."

Benton stared at him, his eyes filling with tears. "Rachel is dead?" he asked hoarsely. "I can't . . . that isn't . . . it can't be true." He raised a hand as if to ward off a blow and continued brokenly, "She - she just agreed to m-m-marry me. We were . . . tell her family . . . June wedding . . ." He sank to the floor as though his legs no longer had the strength to hold him, the tears streaming down his face. "What's happening to me?'

Race stared down at him for a long moment and then bent down and set Vassey on his feet. Immediately, Vassey began to clutch at him once more, but Race placed a hand on the child's shoulder and said gently but firmly, "No, Vassey. He needs my help right now. I promise you that I won't go away and leave you alone, but I have to take care of Benton right now. Can you help me do that?" After a moment, Vassey quieted and finally nodded hesitantly. "Good. I want you to stand right here, and in a minute I'm going to ask you to do some things for me. They'll be easy, I promise. Okay?" Again, the child nodded. Race smiled and ruffled his hair gently before turning back to Benton Quest. "Come on, Benton," he said, reaching down and helping the older man to his feet. "You're supposed to be resting. Let's go back to the house. IRIS, release the door, please. Maia, I want to you run on to the house and make sure his bed is turned back and ready for him. Vassey, I want you to take care of opening and closing the doors as we go along, okay? Can you do that for me?" The child nodded and hurried to pull open the door for his sister. Maia left at a run, and Vassey turned back to him expectantly. "Good boy!" Drawing Benton's arm across his shoulder, he led the man out of the lighthouse. "Lock it down, IRIS," Race commanded as Vassey pushed the door shut behind them. "The lighthouse and grounds around it are now off limits until further notice."

"ACKNOWLEDGED," the calm, uninflected voice of the computer replied. Then Race turned away and led Benton Quest back across the huge lawn toward the main house.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Barbara closed the front door of the Quest mansion behind her and called out cheerfully as she shrugged out of her wet raincoat, "Race . . . Benton . . . I'm back." The words seemed to get swallowed up and suddenly she became aware of the unnatural silence that filled the house around her. Hanging her coat in the front closet, she turned and walked across the vaulted entryway. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the highly polished wood floor as she made her way to the family room, only to find it empty. "Race?" she called again, but this time her tone was soft and hesitant. "Where is everyone?" Still getting no response, she left the family room and headed for the kitchen. The dining room was silent and empty, too. Shoving the swinging door between the dining room and the kitchen open, she called, "Race?" She broke off, the overwhelming quiet finally silencing her as effectively as a hand across her mouth. She stared around the neat, gleaming kitchen. Nothing was out of place. It was almost as though someone . . . or something . . . had come and removed every sign of life from the huge mansion, leaving only the cold, inhuman trappings behind. She shivered uncontrollably at that thought.

Suddenly, a hand dropped onto her shoulder and a voice said, "Barbara -"

She jumped violently, letting out a small scream, and spun so abruptly she had to catch herself on the doorframe to keep from falling. Race caught her elbow, steadying her.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Oh, you startled me! The house is so quiet . . ."

Race ran a hand through his hair wearily and nodded. "Yeah . . . finally."

"Bad morning?"

"Definitely not one of my better ones," he agreed. "Come on, I could use a cup of coffee and not waking anyone is high on my priority list right now. We should be safe enough in the kitchen."

Barbara followed him, and eased the door closed quietly while he retrieved two cups and poured coffee out of what was obviously a fresh pot. Then the two of them sat down facing each other across the bar.

"So tell me what happened."

He took a swallow of the hot liquid and then set the cup down with a sigh. "What didn't. It was just one thing after another." He told her about his telephone conversation with Bennett and the incident in the lighthouse with Benton. "I simply couldn't keep him calmed down, Barbara. Neither could Maia. He paced from room-to-room restlessly, shifting from angry to lost and bewildered at the drop of a hat. It was as though he was . . . I don't know . . . searching for something, maybe." He thought about that for a moment and then nodded decisively. "Yeah, that's it exactly. He was searching . . . hunting for something he just couldn't quite find. And the harder he searched, the more elusive it became and the more upset he got."

"Do you know what it was he was searching for?"

Race gestured helplessly. "I have no idea. And that was only the beginning. I finally managed to find a way to lock him out of the household systems . . ."

"Your new access protocol?"

Race looked at her strangely. "How did you know about that?"

Barbara grinned at him ruefully. "Almost overnight you've turned me into a computer addict. On the way back into town, I stopped in my office and checked my e-mail. I found the notice of the new protocol and the access password. Good thing, too. I wouldn't have gotten in the front gate if I hadn't. IRIS challenged me for the new password as soon as I keyed in a request for access."

"God, I hadn't even thought about that. I was just frantically trying to find a way to lock him out of the Compound systems so he wouldn't accidentally activate something that would get him hurt." He shook his head again. "When this is all over, Benton and I are going to have to have a long talk about the way he has this set up."

"Well, I doubt that he ever considered there'd be a time when he'd need to be closed out of his own systems."

"Live and learn."

"I suppose." The two were quiet for a moment and then Barbara asked, "So what else?"

"Well, we got him back into the house and for a couple of hours he prowled around here. But suddenly, it was as if he couldn't stand being cooped up any longer and he darted out the back door."

She sighed. "In the rain . . ."

"Without a coat," Race agreed. "And naturally, Maia chased him without a second thought."

"Without a coat."

"Of course. Luckily, I'd instructed IRIS to notify me immediately if Benton left the main part of the house, so I was able to go after him right away. But something had caused him to fixate on the cliff out behind the house. I'd been up on second floor on the far end of the house when he bolted out the back door and by the time I caught up with them, he was out on the bluff where Jonny went over last year."

"What put that spot into his head?" Barbara asked, her chest tightening in fear.

"I have no idea. When I got there, he was standing on the brink, staring down into the water below. Maia had him by the belt and was screaming and crying, trying to drag him back from the edge, but it was as if he didn't even know she was there. I managed to physically drag him back, but when I turned him around to face me . . ." He trailed off and shivered suddenly. "God, Barbara, his face was totally blank. It was like there wasn't a thought in his head at all . . . I - I've never seen him look like that before."

Barbara stared down into the cup she clutched blindly, and she could feel the tears rising. "It's the -" Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat before she could go on. "It's the illness," she finally managed. "His mind is being systematically wiped clean of everything he knows. Eventually, there'll be nothing left . . ."

The silence between them stretched, neither seeming to know what to say to that thought. Finally, Race stirred.

"There's nothing else we can do?"

Barbara shook her head. "No. I - I don't . . ." She took a deep breath and looked up at the man across from her bleakly. "I doubt there's even anything the kids could do now. It's gone too far. I - It's just a matter of time." They stared at each other, the realization finally sinking in. Benton Quest was dying. Finally, Barbara licked her lips. "I should check on him," she said with difficulty. "Where is he? And the children?"

"All of them are asleep. Benton finally gave out about an hour ago. I barely got him to his room before he collapsed. Maia had been run through the emotional wringer, and she did the same immediately after he did. And Vassey . . ." Race sighed deeply. "He did okay initially, but Benton's state of mind put him on edge. When I went pelting out of the house after Benton, I left him behind. By the time I got Benton back inside and settled, Vassey was hysterical. It took me another half an hour to get him calmed down, and once I did . . ."

"Out like a light, too, huh."

"Oh yeah. I just got him down. He's sleeping with Maia at the foot of Benton's bed. Figured if he woke up and I wasn't immediately visible, it would be better if his sister were there. I probably should check on him, though."

"Come on, let's go do it and then you can head for Portland."

As they rose and crossed the room, Race said quietly, "I don't know, Barbara. As much as I want and need to go, I'm not sure I should be leaving right now. If Benton wakes up in the same mood he was in this morning, I don't know if you can handle him alone."

"No, staying here isn't an option" she said forcefully. "You haven't seen Estella since the morning after she was admitted. I can manage."

"You're sure? I could call Doug Sanderson or Don Henson to come out and -"

"No!" she replied insistently, cutting him off. "We've kept this quiet so far, but people in the community are starting to become aware that something isn't right. We don't need to add fuel to the fire."

Race paused at the head of the stairs, pulling her to a stop beside him. "Wait a minute. It hadn't occurred to me until just now, but you've been here almost constantly for close to a week. What about your other patients?"

"It's covered. Don't worry about it."

"No. Barbara, if the people of this community are suffering . . ."

"No one is suffering because I'm here." At his expression, she sighed. "Race, I was born and raised here. Do you honestly believe I would forget about my other patients? When I realized what we were up against, I put in a call to a physician temp service. I have two _locum tenens_ doctors working out of my office, and I review all of the charts every day. The people in this community understand your family's need for privacy and security, and they know that if I'm here, it's because I'm needed and no one else will do. Okay?"

He eyed her doubtfully, but followed without further protest as she moved toward Benton's door once more. Easing it open, she slid in quietly and moved to the edge of the bed.

Benton lay curled up on his left side in the huge king-sized bed, and a light blanket had been thrown over him. His breathing was deep and even, and he didn't stir as she laid two fingers against the artery just below his jaw to check his pulse. The beat was slow and steady and his skin felt pleasantly warm to the touch. Maia lay within easy reach on the other side of the bed. When Barbara glanced up, she found herself being watched by dark, unreadable eyes. She smiled at the girl and nodded slightly. Maia sighed softly, and her eyes drifted shut once more.

Vassey also lay on the opposite side of the bed from Benton. He was curled up somewhat below his sister, down near Benton's knees, and he also hadn't stirred when they entered. Seeing that Barbara was satisfied with the other man's condition, Race rounded the bed and carefully gathered the boy up into his arms. The child murmured softly but didn't wake, cuddling confidently against the large man's chest as Race carried him out of the room. Barbara stayed a moment longer, reassuring herself that the sleeping man was all right, and then followed Race out of the room and eased the door closed once more. She wandered down the hallway looking for the pair and found them in the large bedroom that Estella had been using. For the first time, Barbara really looked around and suddenly realized that this room had become very lived in. Male toiletries were scattered across the top of the nearby dresser and through the open closet door she spotted pants and shirts that obviously belonged to Race. It occurred to her that it looked like the two Bannons had moved from the downstairs to the upstairs, and she wondered idly if they would remain there permanently.

Race had placed Vassey in the middle of the bed and the child had curled up contentedly, his sleep apparently undisturbed as a result of the move. As she watched, the boy shifted slightly and a thumb crept into his mouth. Race glanced at him from his position in the open closet doorway, where he appeared to be selecting something to change into. Barbara saw him grimace slightly and then he crossed to the bed. Leaning over, he caught Vassey's hand and very gently pulled until the thumb came free with a soft pop. The child resisted for a moment and then sighed softly. He never woke. After a minute, Race straightened and went back to what he was doing in the closet. He smiled slightly at Barbara's questioning look and whispered, "Maia says he hasn't sucked his thumb since he was three years old. I'm sure that the habit is resurfacing again because of all the turmoil he's been through recently, but I figure it's better that I try to prevent it from becoming ingrained."

She nodded her understanding, smiling to herself at the innate parenting instinct he showed. "You're going to go on then?"

"Yeah," he replied. "If I'm going to go to Portland, I figure I better do it so I can get back. Sooner or later, Benton's going to wake up again and the less time you have to spend here alone with him, the better. I'll take the chopper. It'll be a lot quicker than driving."

"You're still planning to take Vassey with you?"

"Yeah, I think I better. If he wakes up and I'm totally gone, I think the lid will come off of this place. He's latched onto me and I don't think it's a good idea to separate us just yet. I got him to operate on his own for a little bit this afternoon, but I don't want to push it."

"I understand. I talked to the hospital administrator and the nursing supervisor and both know that you may be bringing him with you. They won't give you any trouble."

"Good. You're sure you don't want me to see if I can't get someone to come out here to stay with you while I'm gone?"

"No, I'll be fine. Forget about us for a while and concentrate on your wife. In fact, take some clothes with you and stay over tonight. It will give you the chance to spend some time with Estella and get you away from here for a while." Turning, she left the room, adding over her shoulder, "Maia and I can handle it."

"That's okay," she heard him reply. "We'll just go down and see her and then come back. We shouldn't be gone more than a couple of hours."

Barbara's face was grim as she walked down the hall toward the stairs. "Oh yes, you will," she said to herself in a soft, knowing voice. "You'll be gone a lot longer than that."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Hey."

Estella rolled slightly, turning toward the sound of the well-loved voice. "Hey yourself," she replied smiling up at her husband. "How are you?"

"Better, now that I'm here with you," he said. Carefully setting he child he carried on the edge of the bed, he leaned down to kiss her lingeringly. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged as she tangled her fingers with his. "Comes and goes," she responded honestly. "I'm heartily sick of this bed, though."

Race laughed. "I'll bet."

"And who do we have here?" she asked with a smile, looking down at the child sitting near her knees. She reached out a hand toward him and prompted, "What is your name?"

The child sat stiffly, staring at her out of huge, solemn eyes and didn't say a word.

"This is Estella," Race told him. "You remember what I've told you about Estella?" The boy nodded hesitantly. "Can you tell her your name?" Race prompted him gently. The child ducked his head and shook it negatively.

"That's okay," Estella said with a smile. "I bet I know." The tips of her fingers just brushed the hair above his ears. "You're Vassey . . . Kefira's little brother . . . aren't you?" A barely perceptible nod confirmed the question. "Well, I'm glad to meet you, Vassey. And I want to thank you." Confusion crossed the child's face and he glanced up at Race quickly before turning that wide-eyed gaze back on Estella. "I understand you've been taking care of Race while I've been gone . . . making sure he doesn't get lonely. I appreciate that." After a moment, Vassey seemed to relax a little and nodded slightly once more. Reaching out with her free hand, she caught Vassey's in a light grip and held on to it as she turned back to Race. "And how are you?"

"Just fine," he replied lightly, snagging a chair and pulling it up so he could sit down next to the bed.

She stared at him searchingly for a long time. "No, I don't think that's true," she finally said, and caught his head, drawing his mouth back to hers once more. The kiss lingered for a long time and when he finally broke it, he laid his forehead against her shoulder.

The attempt at lightness and good cheer shattered in the face of her loving concern, and he murmured, "God, Stel . . ." The two words sounded so tired and disheartened that she felt her throat close up and tears pricked at her eyes. She curled her arm around his shoulders and held him tightly, stroking his hair. After a minute, Vassey stirred, seemingly sensing Race's mood. He scooted up until he sat right beside the two of them and put a small arm around Race's shoulders. Glancing uneasily at Estella, he hesitantly took his other arm and tried to put it around her, too. Because he was leaning against her distended belly, the arm didn't reach very far, but Estella understood the gesture. She disengaged her fingers from the boy's hand and hugged him gently against her stomach. The three of them stayed that way for several minutes.

Suddenly, Vassey jumped and sat back sharply. The movement caused Race to lift his head and he found Estella grinning at the boy. "Did you feel that, Vassey?" she asked him. "Here . . ." She reached out and took his hand, laying against the side of her stomach. "Just wait for a minute . . ." Race did the same and a moment later was rewarded with a sharp kick. Vassey made a soft sound of surprise as Race laughed in unexpected delight.

"He's already practicing to be a soccer player."

Estella licked her lips, suddenly looking hesitant. "She." She gestured apologetically at his apparent confusion. "It's a girl. Dr. Eftekari told me yesterday."

His smile turned tender and he stroked her stomach lovingly. "Well, hello there, Emily. How's Daddy's new baby girl?" As if in response, the child kicked again and Race chuckled softly. When he looked up at Estella again, he saw her biting her lip, her eyes brimming with tears. "Hey, what's this?"

"I'm so sorry, Race. I know you wanted -"

He reached out and placed a hand over her lips gently. "I wanted you, and later, another child that we created together. It didn't matter to me if it was a boy or a girl." Then he grinned at her with a trace of devilment. "Furthermore, what have you got to apologize for? The gender of this little one was my doing . . . not yours."

She laughed a little and swiped at her damp eyes with one hand. "You have a point," she agreed.

A knock caused all three of them to look up. Standing in the doorway was a man of medium-short stature, with a lean build and dark hair. His skin was several shades lighter than Hadji's and his bone structure marked him as being of Middle Eastern descent. He wore a white lab coat and a stethoscope hung from around his neck. He crossed the room as Race rose to greet him.

"Mr. Bannon, I heard you'd arrived." His voice held no trace of an accent.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Eftekari. I'm glad you're here. I wanted to talk to you while I had the chance."

"Good, because I've been waiting for you. I need to talk with both of you." Then he smiled down at the child sitting cuddled against Estella on the bed. "And who might this be?"

"This is Vassey," Estella replied, caressing the youngster's head fondly. "He's a member of the family."

"Hello, Vassey," the doctor said, holding out his hand. But the child shied away, pressing more closely against Estella and throwing a desperate look toward Race.

"I'm afraid he's a little shy," Race interrupted smoothly, stepping between the two and picking him up neatly. Immediately, the boy hid his face against Race's shoulder again.

Dr. Eftekari smiled humorously. "Children can be that way sometimes, particularly if they've been through a lot. And from what Dr. Mason tells me, this little boy certainly has."

Race nodded and hugged the child reassuringly, then he returned his attention to the doctor. "You needed to talk with us about something?"

Dr. Eftekari's face turned grave and he nodded. Gesturing Race to the chair, the doctor leaned against the side of the bed. "Yes, I do. I got the results of your latest tests early this morning, and it's not good." He looked at Estella. "Mrs. Bannon, in spite of everything we've tried, your blood pressure has risen sharply again, and your blood work and urine samples show that your kidneys and liver are coming under increasing strain. They are rapidly reaching the point where they can't eliminate the toxins from your system or filter the excesses from your bloodstream."

"What does that mean?" Estella whispered hoarsely, one arm curling protectively around her burgeoning stomach, while Race paled slightly.

"It means that if we don't do something to correct the situation, your kidneys and liver will start to shut down, as will your heart, eventually." He sighed at their expressions. "We've reached the point where attempting to prolong the pregnancy so the child can develop further is more dangerous to both you and the baby than taking her early."

Estella moaned softly, closing her eyes and wrapping both arms around her belly as she started to cry.

"There's nothing else we can do?" Race demanded desperately. "Nothing at all?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"Have you talked to Barbara? What does she say?"

"Yes, I talked with her at length this morning," Dr. Eftekari replied, understanding and compassion for the two distressed parents shining in his eyes. "We both reviewed the lab results and she concurred with me. We simply can't wait any longer. Mr. & Mrs. Bannon, you have to know that I wouldn't suggest this if it wasn't absolutely necessary. But if we don't move soon . . . very, very soon . . . it's a foregone conclusion that Mrs. Bannon won't survive the procedure, and with each passing day, the likelihood that the child will survive grows less and less."

Race rose abruptly and turning to set Vassey in the chair, he reached out and gathered Estella into his arms, burying his face in her hair and holding her tightly. For an instant, Vassey started to fuss, but then he fell silent, watching Race and Estella with huge, fearful eyes. After a long moment, Race asked hoarsely, "Wh-what do you want to do?"

"Under normal circumstances, we'd prep Mrs. Bannon this evening and we'd go in and do the surgery first thing tomorrow morning. But I honestly don't believe we should wait any longer. When Dr. Mason and I got the results this morning, we discussed it and agreed it was vital that we move quickly. The nursing staff has already begun the pre-surgical prep and I've got an operating theater reserved for six this evening."

Race clung to Estella as if couldn't stand to let her go. "That's why she was so insistent that I come today," he muttered to himself. "She knew . . ."

"Yes," Dr. Eftekari agreed. "She knew. But I encouraged her to let me talk to you about this once you arrived here. This _**is**_ my specialty and I'm in a much better position to answer any questions you might have about the procedure and possible complications we might run into. Furthermore, you had a fair distance to travel to get here, and Dr. Mason felt it would be better if you didn't need to worry about this while you made the trip." Shoving off from the edge of the bed, the doctor began moving toward the door. "I know that this comes as a blow, but all I can do is assure you that this is our very best option. I have other rounds to make, so I'm going to leave you now. The nurses will be in at about five to start the final preparations and I'll see you again shortly before six."

Race looked up sharply. "Barbara. Will she be here? She promised that she'd be here to assist . . ."

"She said that she would try, but my understanding is that other obligations are keeping her in Rockport. But I can assure you that your wife will be in good hands. My colleague, Dr. Jackson, is an good surgeon and an outstanding neonatologist and he's agreed to assist." Dr. Eftekari smiled encouragingly at both of them. "Believe me, there's none better. He's the man I trusted to care for my own wife when she had trouble with the birth of our son." With a final smile of encouragement, he turned and walked out the door.

"Wait!" Race called, and then with a quick word to Estella and a sharp "Stay there!" to Vassey, he went after the doctor. He caught him about ten feet down the hospital corridor. "Dr. Eftekari!"

The man paused and turned back. "Yes?"

"There's one other thing . . . something I didn't want to bring up in front of my wife." The doctor gave Race a quizzical look. Taking a deep breath, Race asked, "What's the chance that things are going to go wrong?"

"There's always a chance. You know that. Particularly in light of all the problems your wife has been having. But we will do the very best we can."

"I understand that. What I mean is . . ." Race paused and licked his lips before continuing slowly, "What happens if it comes down to a choice?"

The surgeon eyed the man in front of him resignedly, knowing what was coming. "What kind of choice?"

"What are the odds that you'll be faced with having to let either my wife or my child die to save the other?"

Dr. Eftekari sighed and nodded his head. "It may come to that."

The silence hung heavily between them. Slowly and with great difficulty, Race said, "If it does, how do you choose?"

"It depends on the situation at the time the decision has to be made . . . which of them has the best chance for survival. If all things are equal and the choice has to be made, then I'll ask the two of you to make it. In spite of what you sometimes hear, most doctors don't like playing God."

Race stared blindly at the floor for a long moment. When he finally looked up again, his eyes were bleak. "If the choice has to be made, you save my wife."

"Mr. Bannon, you need to discuss this with your wife -"

"No," Race interrupted. "I've told you what I want done."

"Are you certain about this, because I'll warn you that your wife has already had this conversation with me and she's said that whatever the cost, she wants your daughter to have first priority."

Race closed his eyes as if in pain and then turned away, walking back toward Estella's room. "You have my decision, doctor," he said flatly. "One way or the other, I want my wife to survive this. I won't have her pay the price for my stupidity."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Darkness was falling when the uneasy silence in the Quest mansion finally began to get to Barbara. After Race and Vassey left, she had wandered the house restlessly for a while. Then, in an effort to make the time pass more quickly and to dispel the gloom that was enveloping her, she decided to work. Hauling out all of the patient files that her nurse had passed on to her when she stopped in the office earlier that morning, she settled in at the dining room table and began reviewing charts. Immersing herself in the familiar routine, she read and made notes on all of the patients that her temporary doctors had seen the previous day, as well as those that were scheduled to come in the next day. Finally, a little over two hours later, she closed the last chart and sighed. Stacking them neatly in the middle of the table, she retrieved a phone, called her office, and let Nicki know that she was done and asked that she call Matt Evans to come out to the Quest Compound to pick them up and return them to the office. Matt had obviously been waiting for the call, because he turned up at the Quest house less than ten minutes later.

But once he had gone, Barbara found herself at loose ends. Uneasily, she checked her watch. According to what Race had told her, Benton had been sleeping now for close to four hours, and she knew that he had not been restless the night before, sleeping soundly through the night.

_He's been asleep too long,_ she thought, as sudden fear drove her toward the upstairs bedroom. When she reached his room, she flung open the door. Maia sat rigidly upright on the foot of the bed, staring at the man who still lay moving on the bed. But even from her position at the door, Barbara could tell that something wasn't right. His breathing sounded labored, as though he was struggling for each breath, and when she reached his side she saw that his face was gray and his skin felt clammy.

"Benton," she called, shaking one shoulder sharply. "Benton, wake up!" But there was no response. Looking at the girl quickly, Barbara demanded, "How long has he been like this?"

Maia shook her head mutely, staring at Benton as if mesmerized.

_**"MAIA!"**_ Barbara said sharply. Reaching out, she grabbed the child's arm and shook her. "Maia, look at me!" Finally, the girl's fixed stare broke and she looked at Barbara. "How long has he been like this?"

"I - I do n-n-n-not know. I j-j-just woke up and h-he sounded funny," Maia said, the edge of hysteria starting to creep into her voice. "I - I did not know what to do. I - I - I tried to wake him up . . . I called to him, but he would not answer. I was . . . I wanted . . . but then you came and . . ." In sudden desperation, Maia lunged at Barbara. "Make him wake up! Please! I - I am supposed to take care of him . . . until my sister and the Sultan return. I promised Jessie and - and Kefa. I _**promised**_ them!"

Shaking off the girl's clutching hands, she leaped up and went around the bed to the phone that sat on the bedside table. Her hands shook as she struggled to dial. Once she finished, she wedged the instrument between her shoulder and ear and then search frantically for Benton's pulse. When she located it, she found it was thready and erratic. As she waited for someone to answer, she jerked at Benton's shirt, struggling to loosen it. Buttons flew everywhere. After what seemed like an eternity, a voice answered.

"911 Rescue. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"This is Dr. Barbara Mason. I need a medical team dispatched to the Quest Mansion located at 23219 North U.S. Highway 1 just sound of Rockport, code red. Tell them we'll need life stabilization and maintenance measures. I also need a medical evac helicopter dispatched to the same location. The patient will need immediate evacuation to Maine Medical Center in Portland."

"I have that, Dr. Mason. Emergency team has already been dispatched and I'll get the evac team out there as quickly as possible. What about Compound security?" Silently, Barbara thanked whatever deity was looking out for them and had seen to it that the 911 operator on duty that afternoon was someone from the area and familiar with Benton Quest. "The gate'll be open and you can tell the chopper pilot to set it down right on the front lawn."

"Got it. Can you stay on the line until the emergency team arrives?"

"No. I've got my hands full. Just get me that help!" She slammed the receiver down and then rolled Benton over so he was laying flat on his back. Tilting his head back, she made sure his airway was clear and then fastened her mouth on his and blew air into his lungs. She leaned back and watched, but he didn't exhale. With a wordless sob, she pressed down on his chest, deflating his lungs, and then repeated the process. "Come on, Benton, come on!" she chanted at him as she established a rhythm. After the fourth time, she laid her fingers against his carotid artery to check his pulse. For a moment, she couldn't find it. _**"NO!"**_ she screamed at him. _**"DON'T YOU QUIT ON ME!"**_ Grabbing him by the shirt, she physically dragged him off of the bed. He was dead weight and it was all she could do to prevent his head from striking the floor as he fell.

"IRIS, open the gate to let the emergency medical team in," she gasped, dragging Benton's body into the middle of the floor. "Also, allow the evac unit to land and don't attempt to prevent either team from entering the house. Notify me when they arrive."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

Positioning him carefully, Barbara tilted Benton's head back and blew into his lungs again. This time, however, she started CPR as well. The world around her faded away as her complete focus shrank to the alternating rhythm of breathing and pumping that was the only hope of keeping him alive. She had no idea how much time had passed when IRIS warned, "THE REQUESTED MEDICAL TEAM HAS CLEARED THE FRONT GATE."

"Maia," she gasped without breaking the steady rhythm, "go downstairs and meet them at the door. Show them where we are . . ." There was no reply to her order, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Maia bolt for the bedroom door and the soft thud of her running feet on the carpet traced her path along the hallway and down the front staircase. Dismissing the girl from her thoughts, Barbara focused once again on the task of keeping Benton Quest alive.

The next thing she was aware of were arms wrapped around her body, trying to draw her away from him. She struggled to return to her task, sobbing softly in desperation when the arms refused to allow her to do so. It took a moment longer for the voice to penetrate her intense concentration.

"Stop! Dr. Mason, it's okay. We've got him!"

The telltale beeping of the portable heart monitor was what brought her fully back to her surroundings. Shaking free of the restraining arms, she moved forward once more, staring intently at the readings that were now beginning to appear on the life support equipment that was being attached to Benton. His heart rate had stabilized, and while it was still a bit thin and stuttered on occasion, it appeared to have found its own rhythm again. His breathing hadn't, however, and the sound of the portable respirator was loud in her ears.

"What have we got?" the EMT that had pulled her away demanded. "Did he take something, or -"

"Of course not!" Barbara snapped.

"Then what? What are we fighting?"

She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face, half of her mind listening for the helicopter that should be on the way by this time. "He's suffering from . . ." She paused, suddenly wondering just exactly how much she should say. _Partial truth is better than a lie,_ she told herself, and continued, "He's suffering from a neural disorder that was caused by something that happened to him about five years ago. It's been steadily undermining his systems, and I think . . ." She paused again and then sighed softly, "I think that he may have had some kind of seizure that disrupted his body's ability to regulate his heart and breathing."

"Oh man," the younger of the two EMT's said softly. Barbara really looked at him for the first time and suddenly recognized him as a Rockport native . . . a young man four or five years older than Jonny. He looked up at her, his distress obvious. "Will he be okay, Dr. Mason? It's something that can be treated, right?" His co-worker was a stranger to Barbara, and she saw the look of surprise on his face as he eyed his partner.

"I don't know, Kevin," she replied. "It's serious, though. We need to get him to Portland just as quickly as we can."

"Dr. Mason."

Barbara spun at the sound of the new voice and saw Maia standing in the doorway. She was pale, but composed. "The helicopter islanding out in front."

"Good girl. Go meet them and lead them here quickly." As Maia disappeared once more, Barbara turned to the two EMT's. "I need to do some quick things here, then I'll get my bag we're ready to go. I want you to help load him onto the helicopter and then you can go. And please, at least for now, say as little as possible about this to anyone."

"It's already too late for that," Kevin protested. "By this time, everyone knows we were called out here and that an emergency evac unit was sent, as well."

Barbara sighed. "Yes, I know. But if you're asked, just tell people that he's ill, he's been taken to Portland for treatment, and we hope to have him home soon. All right?"

"But why . . ." the older one began, but Kevin cut him off.

"Don't worry, Dr. Mason. He's new around here. I'll explain it to him and we'll keep quiet." She smiled at him gratefully, and then waved the three newcomers into the room.

The next ten minutes was spent in the midst of controlled chaos. Benton was transferred onto a stretcher and carried down to the helicopter where he was loaded onboard. Barbara got her medical bag and coat, as well as a coat for Maia, handed all of it to the girl and told her to go out and wait by the helicopter. She called Martha Evans at home, and let her know what was going on, and told her not to bother coming to the house for the next several days. The older woman, who had been given several weeks off when Barbara and Race began to realize that Benton had a problem, was very upset and made her promise to call as soon as she knew anything. Again, Barbara made it a point to ask her to keep as quiet as possible about the situation. Finally, she confirmed that everyone was clear of the house, instructed IRIS to allow all emergency medical personnel to leave the premises, and then told her to lock down the Compound. "Don't let anyone but those with family status in, IRIS. Is that clear?" she demanded when she completed her instructions.

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

Giving a sharp nod, she gestured to Maia to climb aboard the helicopter, followed her, and then yelled at the pilot over the sound of the engine. "That does it. Let go!"

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Race was waiting in the lobby of the emergency room when the evac unit arrived at Portland Medical Center with Benton. During the flight, his heart had faltered again, and the technicians were forced to put him on a heart monitor. The ER trauma team surrounded the stretcher the instant they arrived and whisked Benton away before Race was even able to get close. As the stretcher disappeared through the doors, Race reached out and grabbed Barbara's arm.

"Wait! What happ -"

She yanked her arm free and snapped, "Not now! I'll be back. Maia, you stay here!" And then she was gone.

Race stood helplessly, staring after them blankly for a moment. Then he turned to Maia, ready to demand an explanation. But the girl's expression stopped him cold. The mature, composed young girl he had seen since her arrival was gone. The one who stood with him now was terrified and lost. She stood rooted to the spot where Barbara had left her. Silent tears streamed down her face, and Race could see her shaking. Without another thought, he knelt down in front of her and pulled her into a strong embrace. "It's okay, honey. It will be alright," he crooned, much as he had done with Vassey.

Her silent tears quickly turned to ragged, wrenching sobs and, with what little breath she could manage, she kept saying, "P-p-p-promised. I _promised_. T-t-t-take c-c-care of h-him. _**I PROMISED!**_"

"Oh, sweetheart, this wasn't your fault! He was sick long before you came to us. You did the best you could." But nothing he could say would console the girl. Beside him, Vassey was also crying and Race reached out and pulled him into the embrace with this sister. For a while, the three of them remained frozen in that position, for all the world like a statue of grief incarnate. Finally, Race stirred. Rising, he led the two children over to a bench along one wall. He sat down and drew both of them to him . . . Vassey into his lap and Maia against his left side. And there they waited, grief and fear eventually turning to numb exhaustion.

When Barbara finally rejoined them about an hour later, she was shocked by what she saw. Maia and Vassey were quiet now, but both looked as though they had been through a war. Their eyes were glazed and their faces showed nothing but devastated exhaustion. Race sat holding both of them. His head was propped against the wall, his eyes were closed. His face was carefully blank, but Barbara knew him well enough to know that he, too, had reached his limit of endurance. She must have made some small sound as she knelt in front of them, because Race raised his head and three identical pairs of dull, hopeless eyes stared back at her.

"Is he dead?" Race asked her, too tired to try to pick his words carefully.

"No," she replied. "They've got him stabilized, but he's comatose." Barbara shook her head. "He's not breathing on his own any more. The autonomic systems are starting to fail and his body needs assistance to keep them running. His heart is still functioning on it's own, but it . . ." She fumbled for the right word, suddenly realizing that she was as tired as they were. Finally, she continued, ". . . it stumbles, and when the rhythm begins to break down, his body can't get it back. They've put him on a monitor that will help regulate it so it doesn't start into that cycle. They've also begun monitoring his kidney function, because it's only a matter of time now before those begin to fail, too."

"So he might as well be dead."

"Race . . ."

He waved whatever she was going to say away. "No, I know. I just . . ." He sighed deeply and rested his head against the wall once more.

"How is Estella?"

"I don't know. They had just taken her down to surgery when the nurse came to tell me you were en route with Benton. They know where I am, but no one has come looking for me."

Barbara laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Do you want me to see what I can find out?" She watched as he raised his head and truly focused on her for the first time. Something flickered behind his eyes and she saw him struggle to find an answer to her question. His desperate need to know warred with the growing fatalism caused by too many things gone wrong and his inability to do anything to change them, leaving him indecisive for the first time since she had known him.

Before he was able to reply, movement caught Barbara's eye and she turned to see Dr. Eftekari coming toward them. Race followed her gaze and then rose awkwardly to face him.

"It's over?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes."

"And?"

"It was a difficult delivery and your wife lost quite a bit of blood, but I believe that given time, she will recover."

Race stumbled backwards as his knees gave way and he sat down hard on the bench once more. "God . . ." he murmured in a choked voice. After a moment, he looked up again. "And my daughter?"

"Only time will tell. We have her in the newborn critical care unit and she is being watched constantly. She weighed barely two pounds at birth and was tiny even by our usual standards for premature births. But I'll say this much. If spirit is a factor, she has a good chance of making it. When we finally got her airways clear, she cried. I won't call it a scream, but it was much better than any other child born this early that I've ever seen." The doctor smiled at him with real humor. "She was _not_ happy with us!"

The sound Race made then was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but when he looked up again, life was returning to his face. He rose and held out his hand to the surgeon. "Dr. Eftekari, I don't know how to thank you."

"There's no need. I'm glad I could help. And I want to caution you again . . . we aren't out of the woods yet."

Race nodded his understanding. "Can I see them?"

"Mrs. Bannon is still in recovery and it will be a while yet before she's moved to a room, but your daughter is in critical care neonatal ward on the fourth floor. If you want to go up there, one of the nurses can take you to her."

"Thank you."

Barbara looked at the two children who both still clung to Race possessively. "Maia . . . Vassey . . . will you stay here with me?" Both of them shrank away from her and Vassey clutched at Race with a frightened whimper.

Race shook his head. "No, that's alright. I'll keep them with me. I think -"

The familiar strains of a special live TV news report interrupted him, and his eyes automatically shifted to the television that was mounted on the wall across the room. The familiar face of the national news anchor appeared, along with the words 'NBC exclusive'.

"Good evening. In up-to-the minute news, NBC has just received word that fighting has broken out in the capital city of Bangalore, a country on the northern border of India. The Sultan of that country, who holds dual citizenship in both the United States and Bangalore, has been missing and presumed dead for some days. With a live report from the heart of Bangalore City is NBC correspondent, Peter McCaffrey."

The image changed to that of a street in the city. In the background, Race could just make out the outline of the royal palace. Sounds of gunfire and the screams of fleeing people could be heard clearly. The scene was one of total chaos. The picture bounced around slightly, as though the person holding the camera was unfamiliar with the equipment and trying desperately to do a multitude of strange activities all at the same time. In the foreground was a man Race had never seen. His brown, curly hair was coated in dust, as were his clothes, and both his hands and face showed signs of abuse.

"Thank you, Graham. This is Peter McCaffrey reporting live from Bangalore City, where a fierce battle is raging for control of this country. The royal palace of Bangalore is currently being held by the former head of the country's Advisory Council, a man named Arun Birla, who has been attempting to overthrow the legitimate government. Behind me, forces led by Kefira Singh, wife of the current ruler, are attempting to force their way into the palace in search of the Sultan who is rumored to be held prisoner inside."

Behind the reporter, a group of men surged by, moving grimly toward the palace. They carried modern weapons and spread out facing the palace, taking cover behind whatever they could find. A steady hail of bullets from the walls greeted their advance, and as they watched, Race and the others saw several of the men fall.

"Race -" Barbara began, but he waved a hand, cutting her off sharply, his entire attention focused on the scene playing out on the television screen.

"Fighting has been heavy, both in the city and in the rural countryside, where mercenary soldiers have been ruthlessly attacking the local residents and attempting to destroy resistance to the coup. The people, who are fiercely loyal to Hadji Singh, the current hereditary ruler, have been fighting back with whatever weapons they can find, and casualties have been appalling."

Suddenly, from behind McCaffrey, another group of men appeared. Grim-face and determined, they were like a wedge, cutting through the milling throngs of confused citizenry and fighting men. Obviously, the cameraman was much more interested in these new arrivals than he was in staying focused on the man reporting the news, because McCaffrey disappeared as the image focused on the actions of this group. Race saw the man in the lead gesture and the tight knot of people stopped. Then, the man turned and said something. Almost like magic, the knot dissolved and from the center of it, two women stepped forward. Race literally stopped breathing as he stared wordlessly at the screen. Dressed in identical black leather, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, wearing matching expressions of grim determination. As if from a very great distance, the microphone held by McCaffrey picked up the redhead's words to her companion.

"It's time."

The raven-haired woman beside her nodded and replied, "Then let us end this once and for all."

"Kefa . . ." Maia whimpered.

"Oh my God . . ." Race uttered hoarsely as he stood helplessly and watched as his daughter brought a hand-held missile launcher to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. In the next instant, the front wall of the palace erupted with the force of the strike, and then the picture went blank as the satellite uplink was lost. 


	50. Chapter 50

**

Chapter Fifty

**

  


The sound of raised, angry voices reached Garrett Blackman the minute he opened the door to the large airplane hangar in Delhi. Behind him, his companion uttered a disgusted comment in a language Garrett didn't recognize, but its meaning was clear, nonetheless. As he strode across the airplane hangar following the sound of the verbal battle, he grimaced to himself. He'd just about reached the point where he wished the two men would just kill each other and get it over with. It would definitely make life easier.

"I don't care!" Paul Bussac yelled loudly. "I am not leaving those two in that mess!"

The head of I-1 Operations, Ethan Barclay, responded in the same tone. "Listen to me! Foreign intervention is the last th -"

"Shut up! I've had enough of government rhetoric. Those two are little more than children and Race is a friend. I'll be damned if I leave his daughter -"

"Damn it, Bussac, all you'll do is get yourself killed . . . and maybe them, too! The U.N. -"

"Screw the U.N.! They should have acted days ago. I've got a team of men ready to -"

"The U.S. cannot get involved in this dispute! I've told you that before. Until Kefira or Hadji Singh ask for U.S. assistance -"

"And how are they supposed to do that?" Bussac snarled. "The country's shut down, mercenaries control both the borders and communication -"

"Don't tell me things I already know! But it still doesn't change the fact that U.S. assistance has not been -"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Garrett thundered, cutting cleanly across the escalating argument. He strode up to the two men and glared at both of them fiercely. Focusing his gaze on the older man, he said coldly, "Commander Barclay, you are here as _my_ guest. While I appreciate your perspective on the situation, you have voiced it more than often enough. Mr. Bussac and his associates are here at _my_ request. As such, they are not representatives of the U.S. Government, making your argument moot." Then he turned his glare on Paul. "As for you, I warned you when you approached me about coming here that we would not go charging in like mad bulls. We would be invited or we wouldn't go at all."

"Just how do you propose -"

"We have an invitation." You could have heard a pin drop in the resulting silence.

"An invitation from whom?" Barclay asked carefully after a long pause.

Garrett's eyes were black and emotionless as he looked from one to the other. Then he smiled . . . an expression so predatory that it made both men stir uneasily. "The head of Bangalore's Advisory Council . . . the Honorable Arun Birla."

Ethan uttered an incoherent sound of protest as Paul said, "_**Birla's**_ invited you to Bangalore? Why?"

A low, throaty chuckled drew Paul and Ethan's attention to Garrett's companion for the first time. "Why, he believes that Mr. Blackman has weapons to sell," Jade Kenyon replied. "Modern weapons . . . like missile launchers."

"And just where did Birla get that idea?" Ethan demanded stiffly, staring at Jade with obvious dislike.

"From me." Jade replied easily. "I brokered the deal."

"You -" Paul sputtered.

Ethan's eyes seemed to glow with the force of his anger. "I guess it shouldn't surprise me that you've finally gotten involved in illegal arms sales, although it's low, even for you, Kenyon."

Jade laid a hand against her chest and gave him a mocking look. "And here I thought you loved me. You wound me, Commander." But then her expression turned hard. "I don't need your shit, Barclay, so just back off. I have no intention of providing Birla with anything of value."

"What do you think the man's going to do when you get there and you have no weapons to sell him?" Ethan demanded.

She grinned at him again, her expression similar to the one Garrett had shown just moments before. "Who said I don't have weapons?"

"You aren't going to sell that man missile launchers!!!!"

"Why not? They do him no good without the missiles, and that wasn't part of the deal."

"Those are the ones you got for Jessica, aren't they?" Paul demanded and Jade nodded. "Does Birla know he's not getting the artillery?"

Jade looked contemplative for a moment. "Well, the specific subject may not have come up, but then I was a bit pressed for time . . ."

"You are insane," Ethan said flatly. "You can't do this."

"Of course I can. And it won't make any difference because before all is said and done, Birla will be a dead issue, Bangalore will be back under Hadji's control, and the missile launchers will be quickly and safely disposed of. Provided I even turn them over to him once we're there." She shrugged. "We'll just see what happens."

"Furthermore, it's gotten us the invitation, which is all that matters," Garrett said. "Bussac, get your men and equipment on board that plane. I want to leave within the hour. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid. We have no idea what kind of conditions we'll be facing when we get there and I want to be on the ground and within the palace before sunrise." He looked at Jade seriously. "You're sure you want to risk this?"

"In for a penny, in for a pound," she replied philosophically.

"Can you fly that jet?"

"If it has wings and a motor, I can fly it."

"Then you're going to pilot. I don't want to take one of my own people into that mess if I don't have to. How much room are you going to need for the merchandise you're taking to him."

"Not much. I'm only taking one." Garrett raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Oh, he wants more than that, and I told him I could get them. But I haven't stayed alive all these years by being naïve. He gets one as a sample and will be asked to produce the money. After all, with a country at war, I can be forgiven for being skeptical about his ability to come up with my asking price. He'll be told that if he can come up with the funds, that the remainder will be air dropped to him once the transfer to a Swiss bank account has been verified. It buys us some time."

"And this is _my_ idea," Garrett said dryly.

She grinned at him. "Of course. I just communicate the wishes of my client."

Garrett just snorted and then looked at Ethan. "This is the end of the road for you, Commander. If something goes wrong, we might be able to sell the idea that we acted as independent agents, but your presence would make it a government action. There's no way you can come with us."

Ethan stared hard at Garrett for a long time. "Why are you doing this?" he finally asked.

Garrett cocked an eyebrow at him. "What difference does it make?"

"Just answer my question."

Rather than getting angry, Garrett seemed little more than mildly amused. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in the outcome of this dispute, and that I intend to protect my interests." With that, he turned and walked away.

Paul and Jade stood silent, watching the military man to see what he would do. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he shook his head in resignation. "You are all crazy," he muttered darkly as he retreated toward the back of the hangar.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"You trust this man?" the Captain of the Janissaries asked Arun Birla with a frown. "This sudden offer for weapons seems a bit too convenient -"

Birla stilled his restless pacing, the robe he wore swirling around him in waves of shimmering color. "'Too convenient'?" he said sourly. "You come to me inadequately armed, even though I am paying you a king's ransom, and then when I find an avenue to obtain the necessary weapons, you complain? Just be grateful I was able to locate someone who can provide them before _all_ of your precious mercenaries get beaten on the field of battle!" He glared darkly at the field commander, who stood silently off to one side. His expression was carefully neutral, but he stared so fixedly at the wall that Birla wondered the wallpaper and paint didn't shrivel up and melt away.

"We would have brought more modern weaponry, however you did not wish to pay the added cost and assured us they would not be needed," the Captain noted coldly. "You underestimate your opposition, Excellency, as I have pointed out before."

"My opposition!" Birla snarled, resuming his restless pacing. "A barely grown boy and his peasant whore? I think, rather, that I underestimated the capabilities of my allies." He spun and glared fiercely at the field commander who still stood motionless and without expression. "How could a trained mercenary be beaten by a woman?"

The Commander shrugged, never taking his eyes off the wall. "Our adversaries were greater in number, better armed than anticipated, well commanded, and motivated by a rage that drove out fear and sense. Berserker charges are next to impossible to stop, no matter who the enemy."

"Well commanded," Birla sneered as he paced by the man. "To be out- thought by a mere girl -"

"As I said earlier," the Commander replied, his tone infinitesimally sharper, "the men who fought at the mine were commanded by an outsider. She was held in high regard by her men and the Sultana followed her - "

"That woman is not Sultana!" Birla shouted, his fury erupting into violence as he swept several small pieces of statuary off of a nearby shelf. "The Council will never -"

"Proclaimed as Sultana by the Council or not, the people recognize her as such and follow her without question. And the woman who stands at her side is as deadly an enemy as we have ever encountered. She is a trained fighter, can obviously teach tactics effectively to others, is highly knowledgeable in warfare, both open field and hit-and-run, and the Sultana defers to her and follows her advice. What is more, they are honorable opponents."

"At last, a weakness!" Birla replied sarcastically.

For the first time, the field commander turned his gaze on Arun Birla and the expression in his eyes froze the man's words in his throat. "Hardly a weakness," the Commander said in a deceptively gentle voice. "Their honor ensures them the loyalty of their followers, whether they fully believe in the Sultana or not, and it earns them respect in their opponents . . ." The Commander's gaze raked Birla from head to toe, his expression disgusted. " . . . most of the time. Fueled by the rage that has been rising as a result of the tactics used against them, the people of this country have taken a stand and I do not believe they will back down." With one final, scathing look at Birla, the man returned his gaze to the wall and fell silent once more.

The Captain shifted in his chair uneasily and after a moment, he asked, "You believe the people will continue to fight without this woman to lead them, then?"

The Commander turned to look his leader squarely in the eyes. "I _believe_ that if either the Sultan or Sultana of Bangalore is killed, _**none**_ of us will leave this country alive."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Excellency!" an excited voice called loudly across the echoing warehouse in the heart of Bangalore City.

The low buzz of conversation stilled and in the resulting silence, the hissed, _"Be silent!"_ could be clearly heard. Vijay Patel strode swiftly into the middle of the room and gestured sharply, motioning several men toward the door. "Outside quickly! Watch the crowds on the street. Any sign that notice was taken of that shout, come to me and we will leave here immediately." Moving swiftly over to the man who had called out, Vijay snatched his arm and dragged him toward Hadji. Jerking him to a stop in front of his Sultan, Vijay shook the man's arm and growled angrily, "Why did you do such a thing? You know that secrecy is of the utmost importance right now."

The man looked shaken and began apologizing profusely in a hushed whisper. Jonny cut him off. "Forget it. It's done. What did you want to tell us?"

The man gulped as his gaze darted from Hadji to his brother. "It is the radio, Excellency . . ."

Both young men stiffened. "What about the radio?" Hadji demanded urgently. "Is there someone on the radio now?"

"No, Excellency. There was no time to call you. There was only a message -"

"From whom?" Jonny demanded sharply. "The Sultana?"

The man shook his head. "No. It was from her Sword."

"What did she say?"

The man looked down at the piece of paper he clutched in his hand. "I wrote it down, but it made no sense . . ."

"Tell me!" Jonny commanded.

The man gazed at the paper for a minute and then read carefully, "'MegaQuest going hot and the front door is mine. 1.016 mark. Wait for it.'" The man looked at Jonny helplessly. "That was all she said. As I said, it makes no sense. She even repeated it, so I am certain that I copied it correctly . . ."

Hadji looked from the man to his brother. "What -" Then he broke off as a smile spread across Jonny face.

"God, I love that woman so much," Jonny said fervently. He spun and gestured to Vijay. "Start packing. We've got our confirmation and timeline. We need to be out of here as soon as it's fully dark."

"But -" Vijay began to protest, but Hadji cut him off.

"Go on, Mr. Patel. Make the arrangements. We will outline the plan to everyone once they are organized and ready to move." Reluctantly, Vijay nodded and moved away to fulfill his orders. Once the two were alone, Hadji turned to Jonny. "Do you plan to fill me in or do I have to wait until you announce it to the others?"

Jonny grinned at him. "What was the goal of MegaQuest?"

Hadji frowned but answered promptly, "To invade the castle and capture the challis."

Jonny nodded. "Well, we aren't going after a challis, but invading the castle certainly applies."

"And MegaQuest is going hot," Hadji continued thoughtfully. "She's acknowledging our plan to hit the castle."

"And the front door is hers," Jonny agreed. "They'll be here and we're to steer clear of the front of the palace . . . she'll take care of that."

"And '1.016 mark'?"

"The time. 1.016 is the number of one of her engineering core courses this term. It starts at 9:00 a.m. She doesn't want us starting at dawn."

"So the attack will begin at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning."

"Yep. And we're to wait for it. She'll take first strike."

"How?"

Jonny shrugged. "How do I know? But you can bet that however she does it, we'll know it when it happens."

Hadji grunted in dissatisfaction. "I wish we could have talked with her."

"Better that we didn't," Jonny replied, clapping his brother on the back. "I don't think either of us could have kept things short. Come on, we need to get ready to go. It's almost dark and within half an hour we need to be ready to move out of here. We've got a lot to do between now and nine tomorrow morning."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Well?" Kefira demanded as Jessie trudged wearily into the clearing around their command post. Taking the glass one of the guards offered her, she drained it thirstily and then returned it to him with a nod.

"Base camp on the plain has been secured and there's enough people down there now to hold it. Captain Gupta has ordered the people to start moving en masse and he's assured me that he'll see to it that everyone gets situated safely." Kefira turned and walked a few paces away, staring out across the sea of people who had begun packing.

"What about the men who will accompany us?" When Jessie didn't answer immediately, Kefira turned back to her with a frown.

Jessie waved her hand signaling the other woman to patience as she chewed hastily. "Sorry," she mumbled in a shower of crumbs. "Missed lunch and dinner." She swallowed and then took a large drink from the glass the grinning guardsman handed back to her. Coughing slightly, she swallowed again and was finally able to answer. "Well, I've got them, but there's a lot more than the original number we'd planned on taking. No one wants to stay behind."

"How many more?"

"I finally weeded it down to about 175. But they're all good men with experience in handling weapons."

"I thought you said that we could not arm that many."

Jessie grinned. "We can now. I must have been sloppy . . . I missed one of the weapons caches in the castle . . . a big one. That may explain why the Janissaries are continuing to harass us. It was in one of the sections that ended up untouched by the fire. Not only do we have enough weapons and ammunition to arm everyone we take with us, but there will be enough to arm a good number of the people we leave behind. Captain Gupta has set up with the ruins on one side of the encampment, and he and his men are using anything they can find to form a perimeter wall. They'll have something defensible set up by dark. He's also found pits that were obviously dug by the Janissaries as foxholes in the hope of catching their adversaries unaware. He's filling them with combustible material and using them as burn pits. They'll light up the area outside the perimeter wall so no one can sneak up on them."

Kefira made a noncommittal sound as she paced the clearing uneasily.

After watching her for a few moments, Jessie asked quietly, "What's bothering you?"

"I am not sure," Kefira replied irritably. "Something. I am -" She broke off as though at a loss for words. Finally, she asked, "Do you trust Captain Gupta and his men?"

"Depends," Jessie answered promptly.

"On what?"

"On what we're talking about. Do I trust them to defend these people and hold this area? Yes. Even Captain Gupta has acknowledged that things have gone too far for him to simply sit back and watch any longer. Let's face it, the very thing he was assigned to watch has been destroyed. But he's still unwilling to return to the city and take part in an active assault. So when it comes to forcing him to return with us to fight . . . no, I don't trust him that far."

With a sudden flare of temper, Kefira snapped, "Why is the man being so stubborn? Why can he not see that this is the only way?"

Jessie sighed softly as she sank into a camp chair and propped her feet up on a nearby crate. "You want a straight answer?"

"I would not ask if I did not wish to know," Kefira replied testily.

"Okay. Then I think the reason he's being resistant isn't because he doesn't see the necessity. I think it's because of _you_. Kefira, this guy is old school all the way. In his mind, women serve only one purpose, and they should never be allowed outside of the home. Your intelligence, strength of will, and abilities threaten him . . . probably change of any kind threatens him. From what I can see, the majority of his men have much less of a problem with you . . . either as a military leader or as the new wife of their Sultan. But Captain Gupta is in a position to make their lives miserable so they are being very careful to keep their opinions to themselves. The job I've outlined for the Sipahi forces here is something that can easily be considered as an extension of both the traditional role of the military . . . protecting the civilian populace . . . and the orders they had originally from Hadji."

"He can overlook that you gave him the job."

Jessie shrugged. "To a degree. Also, even though I'm a woman, I'm not a woman _of_ Bangalore, so I'm outside of the set of rules that govern his life. As long as I don't ask him to do anything more than a man has already given him instructions to do, then we're in good shape. It's one of the reasons I'm determined to leave Mr. Kumar here. His authority comes from your father, who took his orders directly from Hadji. It's a shaky link, but it's good enough for Gupta. Between the two of them, they'll cope, and it will get Captain Gupta out of our way."

Kefira sighed heavily. "I am finally beginning to understand why is it is that Hadji hates being the Sultan so much." Jessie just laughed. "So are we ready to leave then?"

Jessie shook her head. "Not quite." She gestured around them at the heavy shadows that were filling the valley and then at the late afternoon sunshine that was still visible out on the open plain. "The sun's dropped down behind the mountains here, but we haven't hit sunset yet. In another hour it will be fully dark, we'll leave then. I think it's better that we move under cover of darkness. The moon's full and it's just now rising above the mountains. With the moonlight, we'll be able to drive without lights. I don't think it will be a big secret about where we're headed, but we can minimize the Janissaries knowledge of our progress so that we aren't targeted as soon as we reach the city." Then she grinned at Kefira once more. "Furthermore, you need to talk to Mr. Kumar again. He's found a new set of reasons why he has to come with us."

Kefira sighed in exasperation. "I have already told him -"

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean he's happy about it or willing to give in without a fight."

"I will take care of Mr. Kumar. You just make certain we are ready to leave within the hour. If we do not do so we will not be ready to attack at dawn."

"We're not going to attack at dawn," Jessie replied. "I've been thinking about that and I've got a better idea."

"But Hadji and Jon wanted us to -"

"We can re-program that plan, which is exactly what I'm going to do. I want daylight before we strike."

"Why?"

"Because I think it's time the outside world knows what's going on in this country and with a little bit of extra time, we have the perfect opportunity to set it up."

Kefira's irritation dissipated as her interest was peaked. "What are you planning?"

"If the Janissaries have radio equipment good enough to triangulate our position this far out, then the odds are good they also have equipment good enough to tap into the world-wide communications network."

"How?"

"Satellite uplink gear is my bet. It's at least worth the attempt to find it. Because if we can, we've got the perfect way of letting people know what's going on here."

"Mr. McCaffrey?"

Jessie nodded. "And his partner. They found Mr. Armstead's camera gear in the same storeroom as the weapons. It's intact and operational."

"Mr. Armstead is not, however," Kefira pointed out. "The doctor says that there is no hope of saving his arm, and he may not survive at all. He needs a great deal more help than just field medicine."

Jessie sighed. "I was afraid of that. But we still have his stuff. We'll give Mr. McCaffrey the equipment, someone to help him, and his exclusive. I have no doubt that he'll take care of the rest."

"All right. But how do you intend to warn Hadji and Jon of the change?"

"With this," Jessie replied, waving the radio at Kefira. "They're expecting a confirmation call. I'll let them know the change."

"How? They said to keep any message short and to communicate a major change in plan . . ."

Jessie shrugged. "That's easy. They told us to communicate either 'yes' or 'no', and if the answer was 'no', then a time when we'd be ready. All I need to do is communicate a time . . . 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning and that they're to wait for my move." Jessie leaned forward and patted the crate beneath her feet. "I intend for our opening salvo to be to the point and spectacular. They won't have any doubt about when the assault starts."

Kefira stared at the crate for a moment and then looked back at Jessie. "Is that the missile launcher?"

"You betcha."

"You are planning on blowing up the palace?" the young Sultana asked carefully.

But Jessie shook her head. "No. We don't have sufficient firepower to do that even if I wanted to. But I am going to blow the hell out of the front gate and its surrounding walls. Kefira, that place was designed to hold out against a large-scale assault. We could throw men against its walls from now until a year from next Christmas and not get anywhere. Birla and his men would hole up and slaughter everyone inside, and there'd be nothing we could do about it. We need to get _inside_. I propose we breech the walls and take this fight directly to Birla and his Janissaries. It's the only way we're going to end this decisively."

Kefira stared off into the distance, looking troubled. "What of Hadji . . . and Jon. If Hemant is right, they intend to be inside when the battle begins. If we do this, we risk doing them harm, as well."

"Not if we see to it they're nowhere near the front walls of the palace when we strike. You leave that to me."

"Very well," Kefira finally replied reluctantly. "I agreed to follow your guidance and to this point you have done everything that needed to be done. If this is necessary, then it is what we must do."

Jessie glanced around her at the steadily darkening sky. "Look, why don't you go deal with Mr. Kumar and then signal the people to begin loading the trucks. I plan on moving every vehicle we have here down onto the plain. We'll fill all of them with people, and during the ensuing confusion, our trucks will kill their lights and slip away. Hopefully, it will keep the band of rogue Janissaries in the hills from realizing, at least for a while, that we've gotten away from them. In the meantime, I'll send the message to Jon and Hadji in Bangalore City and then I think we're ready to get this show on the road."

Kefira nodded sharply and then turned and walked away as Jessie reached out for the radio.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Sliding forward on his belly in the darkness, Jonny carefully peered over the screen of straggling shrubs and looked down at the men who prowled restlessly along the outer wall of the palace. Two of them hovered protectively right in front of the postern door, while three more moved outward along the base of the wall. And it was only by sheer luck and some strange sixth sense that Jonny had spotted the sixth man carefully secreted about ten meters up the hillside along the side of the pilgrim's trail that led away from the door. He grinned slightly. _You're rubbing off on me, Jess,_ he thought fondly.

Their forces, led by Hadji, were hidden further along the hillside in the grove of trees that overlooked the front of the palace. For the moment, Jonny was their forward scout, and what he was seeing he didn't like at all. The six men who guarded the back door were all dressed either in peasant clothing or in the livery of the Sipahi, but Jonny wasn't fooled. Their alert stance, the way they moved, and the ease in which they handled their weapons marked them clearly as members of the Janissary. What was also immediately obvious was that they were expecting trouble and were ready for it.

Another disturbing thing was that Jonny had seen at least two radios, both of them in regular use. Security had been tightened, a fact that would make their entry into the palace even more difficult. Laying his forehead against his forearms, he contemplated the situation wearily for a long time. Finally, he slid back from his vantage point and made his way back to the others with extreme care.

"Where have you been?!?" Hadji demanded angrily when he rejoined them. "You were only to go and count the number of guards!"

Jonny noticed that only the team leaders were now in the grove. The rest of the men were missing. "Where is everyone?" he questioned in a hushed voice.

"I sent them into the hills. If a roving sentry discovers us, I do not want everyone bunched together. You did not -"

"You've seen sentries?"

"Yes," Mahavir replied softly over Hadji's strangled sound of irritation. "One came just after the Sultan scattered the men. He came through this grove, but did not attempt to search it."

"They've learned caution," Jonny commented grimly and told them about the guards on the back door.

"Yes," Vijay agreed when he had finished, "but I believe it is more than that. I have been watching the front gate of the palace. They are watching . . . as if waiting for something."

"What?" Jonny demanded.

Vijay just shrugged. "I do not know. It is just a feeling. So what do we do now? If you are correct about the guards keeping in regular contact with each other, then trying to bring men in through the back gate will not work."

"We need a diversion," Jonny replied thoughtfully. "Something that will keep them occupied long enough for us to get in."

"But any diversion we create will only pull off the men outside," one of the team leaders protested. "What of those inside?"

"Yes, and are we not liable to bring even more of them down on us if we call attention to ourselves?" another added.

Jonny waved at them. "Give me a minute," he hissed irritably, rubbing his eyes in an effort to still their itching and burning. _God, I could sleep for a week,_ he thought to himself. Silence reigned as he contemplated the sitution frantically. Then, the glimmer of an idea dawned. Turning to Vijay, he said, "We're gonna lose a fight. Put together about ten men - there needs to be at least one really good shot among them - and send them to wait along the pilgrim trail about half a mile up from the gate. Tell them to move cautiously, because there's a sentry hidden along the trail a bit closer to the palace. I also need the men we selected to go over the wall with me here and ready to move within the hour. Do any of them know the palace well?"

Jonny could feel Hadji tense as he replied, "Why do you ask that? You know that I know the palace."

"You're staying here," Jonny replied flatly. "Who else do we have?"

"I am NOT remaining here!" Hadji hissed angrily, "These are my people and I will -"

"You can't climb!" Jonny snapped back with equal heat. "Not with that wound."

"I can -"

"He is right, my son," Neela said softly, making her presence known for the first time. She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. "You will only slow them down. It is wiser for you to allow your brother to do this thing so that you are ready to lead when the time comes."

"I will not ask these men to do what I am unprepared to do myself!"

"No one thinks less of you, Excellency," Mahavir told him in a quiet voice. "We all know the value you place on the life of your brother and how hard it is for you to send him into that place."

The two young men stared at each other through the gloom. Finally, Hadji whispered in an agonized voice, "We have always faced trouble together . . . watched each other's backs . . ."

"And we still do," Jonny replied firmly, placing his hand on Hadji's shoulder. "But right now I have a job to do, and so do you. I'm relying on you to get everyone inside once we get that door open. We won't have much time."

After a tension filled pause, Hadji sighed and asked resignedly, "What are you planning?"

"The men outside are going to make it appear that we're trying to storm the back door. It needs to seem as though there are a lot more men attempting it than there actually are." Pulling a small radio unit out of his pocket, he waved it at the men around him. "I've modified this so I can jam radio frequencies over short distances. We're going to gamble that when the attack begins and those men can't call for backup that they'll use the manpower they have handy."

"Pulling the men from inside the palace," Vijay said thoughtfully.

"Exactly. We'll still go in over the wall and be waiting inside. If necessary, we'll hit them from there, but I'd prefer to avoid that if we can. Surprise is our greatest advantage. If we can get back in with no one realizing it, we'll be that much further ahead of the game." Turning to Hadji, he demanded, "Are we agreed?" Reluctantly, Hadji nodded.

"I will lead the men in the hills," one of the resistance leaders volunteered. "I grew up here and know this area well."

Jonny squeezed the man's arm in grateful acknowledgement. "Good. Bait them away from the door. I don't care if you thin their numbers a little, but remember . . . don't beat them. It's important that they believe we lost this fight. Now, who knows the palace?"

"I do," Mahavir replied.

"Great. Think about it while we work our way in. If it becomes necessary for us to clear the way, I'd like to have a diversion within the palace that will draw the men off the door without them starting to wonder about outside influences. We only have to go about 15 feet up the corridor before we reach the access to the passages, so once things are clear, it shouldn't take too long to get everyone in."

"May I suggest something else?" Mahavir ventured.

"Yes."

"In the dark with all of the fighting going on, the guards should be too busy to be able to watch the perimeter very closely. You say that the exterior wall of the palace provides good handholds and is easy to scale. Most of the people with us know how to climb. I would suggest that rather than trying to take everyone through the back gate, that we send only those that cannot climb the walls in that way. Everyone else we take with us directly into the old section of the palace. I know we had discounted that idea earlier, however that was before we decided to use a distraction to occupy the guards."

Jonny thought about that. "How many do we have that will need to go through the back?"

"A dozen . . . perhaps a few more."

"Who are they? Can they work with the diversion team rather than going inside?"

"Then I am climbing," Hadji warned grimly.

"As am I," Neela added.

"Look, Hadj, I know how you feel, but -"

"No! One way or the other, I am going inside. Furthermore, you will need Mother and I. We are the only ones who know the passages well enough to move through them quickly."

Jonny sighed in frustration. "All right. We'll take everyone over the wall that we can and we'll try to spirit the others in the back.

"Do not worry, Excellency," the man that volunteered to lead the attack on the back door said. "We will keep the cursed Janissaries too busy for them to notice anything."

Jonny clapped him on the back. "Good man! You have a watch?" The man shook his head, causing Mahavir to unfasten his and pass it to Jonny. He checked it against his own and then passed it to the man. "You start your attack at 2:00 a.m. exactly. Got it?" The man nodded economically. "Then get going!"

Without another word, the man turned and disappeared into the darkness. With a weary sigh, Jonny turned back to the others. "That gives us a little over two hours to pass the word to the others. By the time the attack starts, I want everyone who's going over the wall hiding on the lower slopes as close as they can safely get. The key to this is getting over quickly and quietly. Mahavir and I will go first and get the security grating out. When I give the signal, I want everyone to move. There should be room on the walls for six men to be climbing at once. When the man in front of you disappears from your sight, the next one is to start. Once you're over the wall, hang by your hands and drop. The distance isn't great. As soon as you hit the floor, get clear or you'll have the next man landing on top of you. Mahavir and I will replace the grates after everyone is inside and then join you. Once we're inside, no one says a word until I say it's okay. Everyone clear?" Soft murmurs from the others affirmed Jonny's instructions. "Okay, I don't -"

"Excellency, someone comes!" an agitated voice called softly.

The reaction of the men was immediate as they all dropped down and searched for cover. "Here?" Hadji demanded in a sharp whisper.

"No. On the road . . . there is a car. And it is surrounded by many guards!"

"Now who the hell could that be?" Jonny demanded. 

"I have no idea," Hadji replied from beside him. The plaza in front of the palace gates and the long, tree-lined avenue leading to it were bathed in artificial light that drove back the night. They all watched as a large black limousine appeared out of the darkness and negotiated its way through the rubble of the day's riots.

Suddenly, with no warning, the attack came. Rocks and other objects hurtled out of the darkness, striking their targets with remarkable accuracy and several of the Janissary guards went down. Jonny heard Hadji gasp sharply and felt him start to rise. Ruthlessly, Jonny grabbed him and forced him back to the ground.

"There's nothing you can do!"

The sound of gunfire shattered the night and another guard dropped to the ground as two of the windows on the car starred in a spiderweb of cracks. The remaining guards returned fire, shouting for the driver to continue. The limousine surged forward, racing for the rapidly opening gates as covering fire erupted from the top of the palace walls. Two more Janissary guards fell as they retreated toward the palace. Then, as quickly as it began, it was over, the vehicle and its remaining guards disappearing into the safety of the palace walls.

Jonny watched for a moment longer and then pulled back sharply. "I don't like it. We need to get inside. Come on, let's get this show on the road."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"What happened?" Birla demanded as he and the head of the Janissaries swept into the audience room. Both men came to an abrupt halt as Paul Bussac spun, an automatic weapon trained unerringly on them. Not far away, the remaining Janissary guards that had been assigned as escort lay in a motionless heap. "What is the meaning of this?" Birla sputtered.

"At the time we agreed to come here, you failed to mention that you didn't have the capitol city under control, _Excellency,_" Jade said with cold sarcasm as she stepped out from behind a phalanx of alert, black-clad guards that stood behind Paul. She also held a weapon, however she didn't point it directly at the two men. "I don't like being shot at . . . nor does my employer. You've just had a hazard fee tacked on to the cost of your weapons."

"I will not be dictated to in this fashion!" Birla blustered. "You are questioning my honor -"

Jade snorted derisively. "Honor? This coming from a man who steals a country from a boy who relied on him? You have no honor to question."

"If you are so offended, then we will simply take my merchandise elsewhere to sell," a third voice added, then Garrett Blackman stepped out from behind his wall of guards. "I have no great need to sell to you. You, on the other hand, are rumored to have a very great need to buy." He shrugged negligently. "The choice is yours."

Birla's expression darkened perceptibly, but he controlled himself with an effort. "You are here now, so it would make very little sense not to conclude our deal. You have the merchandise, correct?"

"We have a sample," Jade corrected smoothly. "The balance will be provided once you have inspected the sample, expressed satisfaction at what we can provide, and paid the asking price . . . plus penalties."

"You expect payment _before_ delivery?" the Janissary Captain exclaimed incredulously. Behind them, a third man stirred uncomfortably and then stilled once more.

Jade shrugged. "I have men waiting to deliver them once payment is confirmed. We'll remain here with you until the transaction is complete." She smiled slightly, as if reading the Captain's thoughts. "I doubt you will kill us once the deal is done . . . not when there will be no way to get the money back. Furthermore, if that happens, my men will ensure that the world knows what happened here. You may win the civil war, Excellency, but you won't hold your throne. The other countries of the world won't allow it."

"They won't dare to interfere!" Birla replied haughtily.

That statement made Jade laugh outright. "Really? Then I guess all of the troops massing on your borders must be waiting for their invitation to the post-war party."

"Once this is resolved and I am declared ruler, no one will dare to contest my right to rule."

"Then why don't you simply produce the Sultan and his mother?" Garrett interjected smoothly. "Surely that is the easiest route to power. Get them to step down in favor of you and it is finished. You would have no need to empty the royal treasury to purchase what I have to sell."

The third man, who had been standing so silently, broke in then. "And you would have no customer," he said softly, watching Jade, Garrett, and Paul with black, expressionless eyes.

Garrett shrugged. "As I said, I have no need to sell to you. I can always find a buyer."

"As for the Sultan and his mother," Birla added, his gaze turning cold and angry, "that is none of your concern. Bring your sample and come with me."

Birla spun and stalked out of the door followed closely by the leader of the Janissaries and his Commander. As they turned away, Garrett murmured softly to Jade and Paul, "Do you get the impression that he doesn't have the Sultan or his mother?"

"That would be my guess," Paul replied quietly.

"So the question is . . . where are they?" Jade commented. But before either of them could respond, the Janissary Commander materialized silently beside them.

"If you would come this way . . ." he said, his tone polite but his eyes steely. With a silent nod, Garrett spun on a heel and set out after Birla, the others falling in behind.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Hurry!" Kefira urged Jessie for about the twentieth time since they had slipped away from the other vehicles and started for Bangalore City. "There is no reason to go this slowly!"

Jessie glanced down at the speedometer, which registered a steady 60 kilometers per hour, and grimaced. "Kefira, settle down. The last thing we need right now is a broken axle. We'll get there in plenty of time."

"Yes, but you said we cannot take the trucks into the city."

"That's right. We'll take them to the outskirts and then make our way on foot to the palace."

"But -"

"Kefira, I've already explained this. We want to draw as little attention to ourselves as we possibly can for as long as we can. I know Hemant said that the Janissary are holed up in the palace, but it really doesn't make good tactical sense to suppose they are _all_ there. The last thing we can afford right now is to get you killed because we got sloppy."

"You truly believe there are still Janissary soldiers out among the people?"

"If I was in their place, I would be."

"Then what are you planning?"

"More gambling than planning, but I know Jonny pretty well. I'm betting that he's got men on the lookout for us . . . men we can trust. Hemant says he can lead us to where they were staying. I figure that before we ever get there, we'll be intercepted. If we're lucky, whoever meets us will know what they're planning as well as where we can find the satellite equipment."

"And if they do not?"

Jessie shrugged. "Then we forget about the idea and move on. We're playing this by ear . . . just like we've done with everything else since Jonny and Hadji left Maine. If you want to know the truth, I think we've been ungodly lucky so far. I just pray our luck holds."

"As do I."

Silence fell then, as each of them retreated into their own thoughts. Miles faded away under their wheels as the hours passed and the time moved from mid-evening into the dead of night. Behind them, a motley assortment of vehicles followed, their cargo of men and weapons following their leaders without hesitation. That some of those men . . . perhaps many of them . . . were going to die today was uppermost in the minds of both women, although neither voiced that thought aloud.

"I wonder what my father would think of all of this," Kefira finally said, when the first dim lights of Bangalore City came into view in the distance.

Jessie glanced over, watching her companion's face in the reflected light from the dashboard. "I think he would be proud of you for standing up to a tyrant and doing what was right."

"Would he? Lately, I have been wondering about that. Captain Gupta is right, you know. By the age-old traditions of Bangalore, I am unfit to be Hadji's wife. That role is one of nurturer . . . establishing a home that is restful and welcoming, providing and raising children . . . I don't -" She stared sightlessly out the front window, her expression both unsure and haunted. "My mother gave those things to my father . . . to all of us. I grew up in such an environment, so I have seen the way it is supposed to work. My mother was happy with this life. She never found the need to step outside the role that our culture set for her. And Daria . . . it was all she ever wanted, as Maia would have, given time to grow up a bit more. But me? The things I desire . . . that I have done . . . "

"Captain Gupta is an idiot," Jessie said bluntly. "Maybe, if your goals . . . yours and Hadji's, I mean . . . were to turn this country back to the 17th Century it might be different. But reality is reality, Kefira. This isn't the 17th Century. The time of feudal lords and slave populations is a thing of the past. Even the most benevolent of rulers will be unpopular if he attempts to enforce a way of life that doesn't allow for the people to participate and feel as though they gain something worthwhile for their labors. The world has grown too small. And simply because you are a woman doesn't automatically exempt you from the right to be all you can be." She grimaced slightly in the darkness. "Geeze, I sound like an Army recruiting poster. Look, do you understand what I'm trying to say? Yes, in many ways your father was a traditionalist. But he knew that the people had the right to better themselves if they could. He gave them every opportunity to that, didn't he?"

"Yes," Kefira agreed somewhat reluctantly. "But he operated within the framework of our culture. He did not attempt to destroy it . . ."

Jessie sighed. "You aren't trying to destroy your culture, Kefira. You're simply trying to do what you and Hadji feel is best for the people of Bangalore. Furthermore, your father died before he was faced with the choices you've had to make. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that his choices would have been different than yours if your positions had been reversed?"

"But as a man, he would have had the right to make those choices."

"So you're saying that because you got two X chromosomes instead of an X and a Y, that makes you unfit to use the brain god gave you? What, you think that the ability to make decisions that effect large numbers of people is genetically programmed into the male sex gene?"

For the first time, Kefira looked at her. "Of course not!"

"Then what the hell are you saying, because I really don't get it. You have the empathy for these people, you understand what needs to be done, you have the _right_ to do it by virtue of your marriage to the hereditary ruler of the country . . . not to mention the fact that you were born here and are a citizen of this country . . . the people trust that you have their best interests at heart - which you do - and they are willing to follow you, and you have made great strides in ridding them of a tyrant who will do nothing but make their lives miserable. How can you possibly doubt that what you are doing is right?"

"But so many people have died. And more will do so today. Are you so certain my father would find that sacrifice worthwhile?"

Memories flared unexpectedly, and in that instant, Jessie once more stood in the vermin-infested dungeon of the castle on the high plateau. Around her, she could hear the cries of the dying and the stench threatened to overpower her. Blinking furiously, she forced that image back down into the recesses of her mind and drew a hard breath. "Yes," she replied hoarsely but with a conviction so sharp and violent that it caused Kefira to turn and stare at her. "Yes, he would consider it more than worthwhile . . . he would consider it an obligation."

"Jessie?" Kefira asked, shaken by her companion's thin lips, haunted eyes, and bloodless countenance. "Jessie, what is wrong?"

Jessie's voice was thin and brittle as she replied jerkily, "We end this now . . . before things get any worse." Downshifting sharply, she killed the headlights, applied the brakes and began to slow. "We'll stop here. There's still some cover for the trucks, but we're close enough so that an hour's walk will get us to the outskirts of the city."

"It will take another two hours from there to reach the palace," Kefira warned, with one final concerned look.

Jessie glanced at her watch. "It's only 3:30. We have time. Sunrise is a little after six, right?"

"Yes."

"That will put us well into the city before it gets light, and we should have daylight to locate the stuff we need. But we need to move quickly and quietly from here on."

Kefira nodded as she opened her door. "I will go back and get everyone ready while you take care of the missile launcher." And with that, she was gone, not even bothering to wait for a reply.

Jessie sat, silent and alone in the darkness for a few moments longer. The vision of what she had seen at the castle kept rising up to haunt her. Images of the twisted, abused bodies of prisoners alternated with the memory of the broken bodies of the soldiers they had found when they made their way back down to the plateau. And over it all was the memory of the smell . . . a combination of decaying flesh, burnt bodies, and explosives. She'd tried twice during the day to get some rest, but every time she fell asleep the memories returned, as vivid as if she still stood in the middle of it. Even though she knew that she couldn't afford the time, she sat and finally allowed the memories to fully surface once more. They washed over her like a tide, enveloping her until she felt as though she was drowning. Her body began to shake violently and tears poured down her face. The feelings evoked by those memories were so strong that it was all she could do not to vomit where she sat. After a time, the feelings began to recede, leaving her feeling weak and a bit light-headed. She leaned forward and rested her forehead on the steering wheel, allowing her silent sobs to continue until they reached their natural end. When they had finally quieted, she sat up once more. Scrubbing at her face to dry her tears, she fumbled in the cab of the truck until she found an old rag that had been stuffed up under the seat. Blowing her nose on it resolutely, she took one final sniff and then squared her shoulders and shoved open the truck door. She had a job to do.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Jonny counted to ten after the first shots shattered the quiet night and then rose and sprinted down the hillside toward the palace wall. A rush of adrenaline drove him forward and behind him, he could hear the soft footfalls and quickened breathing of Mahavir. They reached the wall at almost the same instant and began to climb immediately. Any minute, Jonny expected to feel a bullet strike him in the back, but it didn't happen. In the distance, gunfire continued and off to their right, silhouetted by the lights that had been rigged around the postern door, he could see the guards returning fire. One man was frantically yelling into a small hand-held radio. During one of his rapid glances in that direction, Jonny saw the guard shake the radio sharply. Then the two of them reached the top of the wall. Clinging tenaciously by the fingertips of one hand, Jonny reached up and popped one corner of the decorative grate with the heel of his other hand. The grate spun free, rotating almost like a lazy susan in a cupboard. Grasping it frantically to keep it from falling into the darkness, Jonny dragged himself upward until he lay across the top of the wall on this belly. Carefully, he wedged the grate in place so it wouldn't get lost. It would be important that it be set back into place once everyone was over the wall and inside the palace. Then he wiggled forward until he could swing over into the darkness of the old palace.

He had intended to cling to the inside wall until everyone was in and then reset the grate before joining them on the floor. But the long days of constant stress, nervous tension, and little or no sleep finally caught up with him. As he slid over the wall, he lost his grip and fell, landing flat on his back on the tile floor about twelve feet below the window. His world exploded in a brilliant flash of white pain, and then there was nothing but blackness as he lost consciousness.

Above him, Mahavir hesitated. He had heard a frantic scrambling followed by a soft, startled exclamation of surprise and a dull thud just as he reached the top of the wall. Frozen there, he listened intently, but all he heard was the distant sounds of shouting and gunfire. Finally, he swung his legs over the wall and slid into the darkness of the old palace.

"Jonny?" he breathed softly, but received no reply. He peered over his shoulder into the darkness, but other than the gray outline formed by the window, he could see nothing but blackness. Remembering Jonny's instructions, he let go, dropping the remaining distance to the ground. He landed a bit unsteadily and when he took a half-step back to catch his balance, he stumbled into something on the floor. Dropping to his haunches he felt the obstacle and with a growing sense of dread, realized that it was the Sultan's brother. "Jonny!" he whispered urgently, grasping his shoulder and shaking it frantically, but there was no response.

Mahavir stood upright, thinking frantically. He knew the plan and could probably execute it except for one thing. There were only three people alive who knew how to get into the secret passageways from here and to get where they needed to be . . . and he definitely wasn't one of them. This would be their only chance. If they didn't get everyone inside and in place before the Sultana and her followers arrived, the full force of the remaining Janissary guard would be unleashed against them. From the sheltered vantage point atop the palace walls, the mercenaries could pick off the attacking forces at their leisure. This plan couldn't be allowed to fail!

Turning, he reached down and carefully dragged Jonny's motionless body out into the center of the room. Returning to the wall, he ran his hands over the surface. For all that it was old, it was still remarkably smooth and offered few handholds. Gathering himself, he bent his knees and launched himself upward, grasping frantically at the ledge. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't jump high enough to grab onto anything that would allow him to climb back up to the window. He was just about ready to go in search of something to stand on when the gray light at the top of the wall was broken by the silhouette of a head. A body quickly followed and a moment later the individual dropped to the floor.

"Jonny?" a voice breathed and with a shock Mahavir realized who it was.

"Excellency!"

"Mahavir? Where is my brother? What has happened?"

"He fell, Excellency. Without light I cannot tell how badly he is injured, but he is not awake."

Hadji uttered a soft curse word and then took a deep breath. Leaning his head back, he let out a long whinnying call, repeating it twice more before turning back to the waiting man. "That will bring the others. Stay here and make certain everyone gets in safely and that the grate is put back into place. I will move into an inner room and see what I can do for my brother."

"Yes, Excellency."

"We are bringing everyone in over the wall. The diversionary attack is almost over and it will be too late to use it as a way of getting the back door open. Those that cannot make the climb have been sent to await my wife's arrival. My mother is among them, as is your uncle, who I instructed to guard my mother. They will see that my wife knows what we have planned." Above them, the gray light was broken by the arrival of the first of the men. "Now, where is my brother?"

"Straight ahead of you about ten paces, Excellency. I could do little more than drag him away from the wall so no one would land on him." Hadji nodded, even though he knew Mahavir couldn't see him and advanced slowly until his foot struck something soft. Leaning down, he fumbled his way up to Jonny's head. Laying his fingers against the artery in Jonny's neck, he breathed a soft sigh of relief. The pulse was slow and steady. Hadji carefully explored Jonny's head and found a good-size knot on the back of his skull, however there did not appear to be any blood and he could find no soft spots that would indicate a skull fracture. Finally, Hadji decided that he would have to take the risk of moving him. Standing, he reached down and grabbed Jonny's arm in preparation of hoisting him up onto his shoulders, when a hand stopped him.

"You cannot lift him without further injuring yourself, Excellency," a soft voice breathed in his ear. "I will take him." Hadji turned and saw Thakur standing at his shoulder.

"How did you know -" Only then did Hadji realize that there was now a dim light suffusing the room. Looking around, he saw that better than two-thirds of the men were now over the wall and standing around the room, while still others were coming over in a steady stream. Two of the men had flashlights, which they were using to provide a small amount of light. The beams were muffled by pieces of cloth, but the illumination they cast was sufficient without being bright enough to attract attention.

There was quiet laughter in Thakur's voice as he reached down and picked Jonny up without apparent effort. "I have come to know you, Excellency. Nothing could ever cause you to leave him behind." He gestured back toward the window where Mahavir was balancing precariously on the shoulders of another man as he fit the grate back into place. "I believe it is time to leave this place, Excellency, if you can show us the way.

Hadji took a deep breath, cast a final look at Jonny, and then gestured to the waiting men. "This way."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


They entered the city about an hour before dawn. Jessie scattered the men into small groups and sent them in from all directions, instructing them to avoid the main roads in case they were being watched. Everyone was to remain out of sight as much as possible, or to mingle unobtrusively with the local residents. Strike leaders were designated and directed to meet with Jessie and Kefira at the warehouse where Hemant had met with Jonny and Hadji an hour after dawn. The boy had been put in charge of describing its location to the men and ensuring they knew how to get there. The remaining men were directed to make their way to the palace and to await their strike leaders at predetermined locations in the surrounding area. Once the leaders joined them, they would get their final instructions.

Then, using the cover of darkness, Kefira, Jessie, and a small group of guards entered the city and made their way to the warehouse. In those early hours before dawn, nothing seemed to be stirring and they made the journey without mishap. They had been there no more than fifteen minutes when the strike leaders began to arrive. The meeting with quick and once everyone was clear on the plans, Jessie directed them to begin making their way to the palace and to prepare their men for the coming attack. After giving it some thought, Jessie also broke the missile launcher down, giving the various pieces to different strike leaders. As she explained, it was less conspicuous that way, and, should she be taken by the enemy, it would prevent their adversaries from being able to use their advanced weaponry against them.

During the meeting in the warehouse, Jessie tried to convince Kefira to go with one of the teams and to await her arrival, but she flatly refused. Stating that she intended to follow Jessie wherever she went, Kefira sent all but the same six guards who had followed her faithfully since her arrival in Bangalore on to the Palace.

"You are a real pain in the butt sometimes, you know that?" Jessie grouched as they watched the last of their fighting force fade into the crowds that were beginning to fill the streets.

"I sent you into the lion's den alone once before and almost lost you there. I told you I would not do so again, and I meant it. Both of us will go or neither will. The choice is yours." Jessie opened her mouth to argue, but Kefira cut her off before she could say a word. "And do not start again about how I am too valuable to risk. I do not wish to hear it."

"But -"

_"No!"_

Jessie sighed and gave up. She had learned to recognize Kefira's stubborn streak when she saw it, and it was in full operation at the moment. "Now that it's daylight, we need something to put on over our clothes. We're too conspicuous." She grinned at Kefira, trying to be certain the other women knew that she wasn't angry. 

Kefira smiled and then looked thoughtful, scrutinizing her surroundings., "Perhaps we can find two burkas. There are Muslims in Bangalore and because the country remained regressive for so long, traditional garb isn't unusual."

"You're kidding. Deepak and Vikram never struck me as the religiously tolerant types."

"It made no difference to them," Kefira replied with a shrug. "Hindus . . . Muslims . . . Jews . . . Christians . . . as long as they contributed to the palace coffers and worked like slaves, religious differences were ignored."

"Big of them."

Kefira snorted derisively. "This warehouse has been used as a dwelling in the past and much has been left behind. Let us see what we can find."

In the end, it was Hemant that found the garments and brought them to Jessie and Kefira. When he held it out to her, Jessie glared at it in horror, wrinkling her nose at the smell that wafted from the dusty fabric. "You have to be joking!" she protested.

"Be certain not to look directly at anyone, and keep your hands in your sleeves," Kefira directed with a grin. "Your green eyes and fair skin mark you as a foreigner . . . a point we do not need called to anyone's attention right now." Jessie uttered a rude sound but took it reluctantly.

Before they were able to do anything else, however, a sound from an unseen door in the dim recesses at the back of the warehouse sent all of them for cover. Miming her instructions to two of the guards, Jessie sent then around toward the back of the building, directing them to come up behind whoever had just entered. Then she moved forward cautiously, pulling her Glock out of its shoulder holster, releasing the safeties, and holding it at ready. Before she had the need to use it, however, the two guards pounced on the newcomer. The man fought like a caged tiger, and before it was all over, two of the guardsmen had been slashed by the knife the stranger carried. It was Jessie that ended the struggle. Taking a long wooden pole that had been used to create a canvas wall for one of the abandoned dwellings inside the warehouse, she struck him sharply across the shoulders, then swept his feet out from under him and dropped to pin him to the floor with the pole braced firmly against his throat.

"Enough!" she said harshly in Hindi. She watched as the man's eyes widened in disbelief and then suddenly narrowed. His struggles stilled and he wheezed slightly as he attempted to speak. Easing up on the pole slightly, she demanded, "Who are you?"

"You are not the Sultana!" he said in heavily accented English.

"No," she agreed and then increased the pressure against his throat once more. "You did not answer my question."

The man paled slightly. "Simul, Lady," he replied in a hoarse whisper.

"And what are you doing here, Simul?" Jessie prompted when he offered nothing else.

The man licked his lips, his eyes darting around frantically, as though searching for a way out. Reluctantly, he replied, "I - I was sent, Lady?"

"Sent by whom? And for what purpose?"

Again his eyes darted, seemingly searching for something. Again, Jessie pressed down slightly on the pole. "A message, Lady!" he replied frantically and she eased up again. "I was sent with a message."

"A message for whom?"

"T-The Sultana."

"And who sent you?" Jessie would have pressed him again as Simul hesitated, but a new voice interrupted.

"Answer her question," Kefira ordered in a firm tone, stepping forward so she was in the man's line of sight. His eyes widened again and he gasped softly. "Who sent you to me?" Simul began to struggle again, attempting to push Jessie out of the way. When she would have stopped him, Kefira reached down and touched her shoulder. "Let him up, sister."

Jessie rose fluidly and moved to stand beside Kefira as several of the uninjured guards moved in to flank the newcomer. Staggering to his feet, the man bowed deeply. "Excellency! A thousand apologies. I did not realize that these people . . ."

"Simply answer the question," she snapped sharply. "Who sent you?"

"Vijay Patel, Lady. He is a close friend of your -"

"I am well aware of who Mr. Patel is. You say he sent me a message. What is it?"

"He fears for your safety, Excellency. He has men and arms that can assure your well-being and he wishes me to take you to them."

"And where are these men?"

Simul gestured vaguely toward the south. "Outside the city, Excellency."

Kefira frowned. "Mr. Patel knows that I will not run and hide from this fight, particularly when I have word from my husband that I am to join him."

The man sighed. "Please, Excellency. Mr. Patel is concerned enough about the Sultan's insistence on risking himself. To have both of you in the path of danger is not good. He begs you to follow me to safety."

"There's some sense in the idea, Kefira," Jessie said unexpectedly. "Putting both of you in the same place at a time like this is risking a lot."

"I cannot help that," Kefira said with a frown at the other woman. "I am here to find my husband, and that is what I shall do. I refuse to run and hide."

Jessie sighed. "All right. I didn't figure you'd go along with it." She looked at the man and shrugged. "_C'est la vie,_ Simul. She's stubborn about stuff like this."

"But -"

Suddenly, a guard called out in a low voice, "Others come!" Once again, everyone scurried for cover. The newcomers entered the warehouse cautiously, scanning the interior with a wariness that set Jessie's internal radar jangling. Just as she was about to motion for the guardsmen to move, Hemant suddenly jumped up with a joyful call.

"Nilesh!"

One of the younger newcomers spun, bringing a rifle to bear on the boy. But the minute he got a look at him, the gun fell and a wide smile spread across his face.

"You have come back! I told the Sultan that you would. Have you brought his lady with you?"

Hemant immediately turned to Jessie, who waved to Kefira to remain where she was and then stepped out into the open again. "Lady, this is Nilesh. He was among those with the Sultan and your Lord when I was here earlier."

"Jessie."

The voice was soft and familiar, and Jessie turned toward it, knowing even before she spotted the speaker who it was. She held her hands out in welcome as she crossed the open space rapidly. "Neela, I'm so glad to see that you're safe!" They met in the center of the warehouse, the older woman sweeping Jessie up in her arms and hugging her tightly. 

After a moment, Neela released her and stepped back, touching her face softly. "It is good to see you again, Jessie. I could only wish it was under better circumstances."

Jessie grimaced slightly. "Tell me about it."

Neela squeezed her arm gently and then looked around. "Where is my new daughter? She _is_ with you, is she not?"

Kefira moved out into the open as Jessie stepped back. For a long instant, the two women stared at each other wordlessly. Then Neela held out her arms and Kefira crossed to her swiftly. The two stood silently for a long time, simply clinging to each other as those around them watched respectfully. It was Neela who finally broke the silence.

"I am so sorry about your parents, child. They were good people."

Neela felt an uncontrollable shudder pass through the young woman before Kefira stepped back and took a deep breath. "Thank you. It eases my heart to know how loved both of them were." Then she looked straight into Neela's eyes and asked, "Where is Hadji? How is he?"

Neela glanced around the huge building and then looked at Kefira and Jessie again. "Is there somewhere we can talk? We need to review our plans and prepare for what is to come."

Jessie turned to Hemant. "Is there anywhere here that we can go that will give us some privacy?"

"Yes, Lady. There is a room. I will show you."

Jessie bowed slightly to Neela and Kefira. "Hemant will lead you to a place."

"But -" Kefira started to protest, but Jessie shook her head.

"Go on. I'll be with you in a minute. There's one other thing I need to do first."

The two women turned and followed Hemant away as Jessie turned to one of her guardsmen. "You - with me." Then she turned to Nilesh. "Who leads your group?"

"I do," a voice to her right replied and a middle-aged individual stepped out from amid the men who had arrived with Neela. "Vijay Patel."

Jessie nodded. "I've heard Hadji speak of you." She gestured at him to follow and then led the two men away so that they were out of earshot of the others. She lowered her voice and said, "Mr. Patel, I don't have a lot of time to explain right now, but I need to know if you are aware of a satellite uplink station that the Janissaries might have been maintaining in the city."

Vijay look started, but then nodded quickly. "Yes," he replied in a low tone. "There is one just outside of the palace."

"How heavily is it guarded?"

"I do not know. Before you and Ms. Sub-, - ah - the Sultana arrived, they kept no more than one or two guards near it. But the security all around the palace has increased dramatically since the Janissaries have begun to suffer defeats at the hands of your forces. I cannot say how closely guarded it will be now."

Jessie frowned, chewing at her lower lip thoughtfully. Then, as if coming to a decision, she looked up at the guardsman. "We're going to give it a try. I want you to select nine men . . . at least one should know the location of this place and have some chance of being able to operate the equipment. Do you think you can find someone who can do that?" The man nodded sharply.

"I have seen one among the Lady Neela's men who would have the knowledge."

"Good. When you get there, take the place and secure it, but be as quiet about it as you can." Reaching into a nearby bag, she extracted a small radio similar to the one she had used to pass her message on to Jon and Hadji. "Once you have control of it, you are to take cover inside and stay out of sight. It's important that no one from the palace realizes you are there. When we're ready, Mr. McCaffrey will signal you with this, and you are to activate the uplink so that he can broadcast. Then you are all to leave. Don't try to hold it. Can you do that?"

The man bowed deeply. "It will be as you order, Lady. I swear it."

"Good man. Go." Turning back to Vijay, she demanded, "Jon and Hadji . . . are they both all right?"

Vijay watched the guardsman hurry away with a look of surprise. "I did not expect him to take orders from you so readily."

"You'd be surprised. Jon and Hadji?"

"Both were well enough when we separated. The Sultan had been injured in an earlier incident, but his brother attended to him and he seemed to be recovering well. As for Mr. Quest, he had not been injured, but I was beginning to be a bit concerned. He has been spearheading much of what we have accomplished, and he never seemed to rest. He was looking very tired the last time I saw him."

Jessie exhaled sharply in exasperation. "That sounds like him. Damn. I want this over. Get your men ready to move, Mr. Patel. I'm going to find Neela and Kefira." Spinning on her heel without waiting for him to answer, she called out to Hemant and walked away with a determined stride.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Neela hesitated, torn between the order given to her by Hadji's new wife and her desire to know what Jessie Bannon was planning. Over the course of the last month, her life had changed drastically, and she was finding herself more and more lost. She had a desperate desire to reach out and grab at anything that felt familiar. Turning reluctantly to follow Kefira, she was suddenly struck by the way the people treated the young woman. There was a reverence in their attitude and a strong sense of awe that she had rarely felt from them of late. No one tried to impede her progress, but in the course of following Hemant across the room, she stopped several times. The boy almost seemed to expect this and kept the pace slow and stopped willingly to wait whenever Kefira deviated from the path he set. It was as if Kefira could sense the need of certain people to speak with her, and unerringly stopped, even though they made no attempt to attract her attention. Neela could see her tension and weariness in the way she carried herself and in the set of her shoulders, and yet her smile was always ready and those around her responded to it immediately.

For a brief instant, jealousy flared in Neela. There was a time when the people of Bangalore had treated her in this fashion. But as quickly at the feeling had flared, it died, to be replaced by a deep-seated weariness. It had been a long time now since the people had treated her in this way. It had happened slowly, going first from reverence to cool tolerance and finally to thinly-veiled distrust and dislike. Most still obeyed her, albeit reluctantly, but she knew they did so only because she was Hadji's mother. The rapport she used to share with the people of Bangalore was gone . . . destroyed by her long-time support of a man who had turned out to be a tyrant who was no better than Deepak or Vikram.

_I no longer have a place here,_ she realized as she watched the new Sultana interacting with her people. She shivered slightly and wondered just exactly what that meant.

Ahead of them, Hemant stopped and opened a door, gesturing respectfully to the younger woman to enter. Kefira strode into the room without hesitation and a moment later, Neela followed her through the door. Turning to their guide, Kefira smiled.

"My thanks, Hemant. This will do well."

The boy bowed. "Do you require anything else, Excellency?"

"No, this is fine."

"Then I shall return to my lady and aid her as I may."

Kefira's smile changed to an obvious grin. "Move carefully, my young friend. Your competition for her affections is formidable."

The boy sighed sadly. "I know my place, Excellency. I have met my lady's betrothed. He is a strong and honorable man . . . well-suited to be husband to her. I would never attempt to interfere."

Kefira's smile turned sympathetic. "You are right, Hemant. They are well-paired. Take comfort in knowing that they care for each other deeply and he has, and always will, put her safety and well-being first in all things. And do not worry. I have no doubt that the day will come when you will find one that you may share an equal rapport with."

"Perhaps," the boy replied gravely, "but none will ever be like the Lady Jessica."

"I am sure you are right," Kefira replied with equal gravity. "Please find my sister and ask her to attend me as quickly as she can."

Hemant bowed respectfully once more and then disappeared. When Kefira turned back to her companion, she found Neela smiling slightly. "He sets his sights very high. How old is he?"

"Twelve or thirteen, as I recall. He does not love her . . . not really. I believe it is more hero worship than anything else."

"Perhaps, but it is certain that he will never forget her."

Kefira laughed. "I do not believe anyone who has ever met my sister readily forgets her."

Neela looked at her speculatively, surprised at her reference to Jessie Bannon. For a moment, she considered asking her new daughter if the wedding ceremony that bound this young woman to her son had actually been a double ceremony. After a moment, she decided that this probably wasn't the time to ask that particular question. "I suspect you are correct," she replied noncommittally. Then her smile faded. "How are you, child?"

Kefira's eyes fell and she shifted uneasily. Gesturing toward the pallet on the floor nearby, she replied evasively, "I am afraid the accommodations are not very good, but if you would like to -"

"I am well aware of the accommodations," Neela replied, interrupting her. "I have been here quite recently." She stopped forward boldly and caught Kefira's chin in a gentle grip, forcing her to look up at her. "You did not answer my question."

Kefira shrugged, pulling away. "I am uninjured. My sister has seen to that."

"Saying you are uninjured does not mean you are unhurt. You have been separated from your husband, your family has been destroyed, and you have had to face an adversary who slaughters without so much as a second thought. There is no shame in admitting that it has effected you."

"Of course it has effected me!" Kefira snapped, turning from the older woman and beginning to pace angrily. "How could anyone remained unmoved by all I have seen? Or the things I have been forced to order done? But what would you have me do? Fall on my knees and wail to the heavens at the injustice of it all? What good would that do? No. I have a job to do, and that is all that I can allow to matter." Glaring fiercely at the older woman, she demanded, "So I ask you again . . . _where_ is my husband?" 

"And his brother," Jessie added, stepping into the room and pulling the door closed behind her. "What has happened since they arrived here and what exactly do they have planned?"

Neela's expression had remained calm during Kefira's tirade, but now it changed. Weariness gripped her and her shoulders slumped in dejection. Turning, she walked to the nearby pallet and seated herself, gesturing for the two young women to join her. Both hesitated fractionally, but finally sat on the floor nearby. "He is in the palace." She gestured reassuringly at their sudden tension. "No prisoners. They entered secretly under cover of darkness with about 30 men. If all has proceeded according to plan, they should be in position and ready to strike at your signal." Neela went on to describe the events of the preceding days and Jon's plan for striking from within and without at the same time. "Their primary goal is to take both Arun Birla and the Captain of the Janissary guard as swiftly as they can. They hope that by capturing these two men, they will remove the driving force behind the troops and the fighting will cease."

Jessie signed and rubbed her eyes wearily. "I hope they're right. The Janissaries have a reputation for being ruthless and next to unstoppable. Taking their leader may not be sufficient."

Neela spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I do not see that we have any other choice. My biggest concern is that they will get trapped inside the palace facing a much stronger force with no means of retreat. Jonny is convinced that the Janissary's numbers cannot be that great, and that much of their dominance is due to fear and high visibility."

"Maybe," Jessie replied with a frown, "but I suspect that if there is a concentration of them anywhere, it's going to be in the palace itself. You can also bet that they've kept the best of their fighters there, too."

"So what do we do?" Kefira demanded.

Jessie thought for a moment and then shrugged. "The only thing we can . . . continue as planned, hit them hard and fast, and make straight for Birla. The sooner we join forces, the better off we'll all be."

Kefira glanced at her watch. "It is 7:45. If we are to strike at 9:00, we must move soon."

"Everything's ready to go," Jessie replied, rising to her feet. "It think you're right. It's time we are on our way." She glanced at Neela. "It might be better if you stayed -"

"No," Neela replied flatly, cutting her off in mid-sentence. "It is my son, my people, and my fight. I have the right to be there."

Jessie looked at Kefira. "Sultana? It is your choice to make."

The two women eyed each other silently for a long moment. Then Kefira rose. "She had earned the right to choose her battles. If she wishes to see this out to the bitter end, I will not order her to say behind."

Neela rose as well. "You know that I would not remain behind. Were you to order me to do so, I would follow anyway once you were gone."

A hint of a smile played around Kefira's lips. "I suspected as much." She held out her hand to the older woman. "I would welcome your company and your council . . . Mother."

Tears glimmered in Neela's eyes as she reached out and grasped the offered hand firmly. "Then let us go and put an end to our enemies once and for all."

Shoulder-to-shoulder, they turned to face Jessie. "We are ready, sister."

Jessie smiled. "Then let's do it." Leading the way back out into the main part of the warehouse, she called everyone together. "It's time," she told the assembled men. "I know that many of you are new to our group, having been with the Sultan's forces earlier. Those of you who wish to join us are welcome to do so, but no one will fault you if you choose to return to your families. I would ask that any who want to join the Sultana remain here. Anyone else may leave now." The silence seemed almost uncanny, and no one moved. After a moment, Jessie nodded. "Fair enough." She gestured to one of the guardsmen who stood nearby. "This man will assign each of you to a fighting group and see that you get to them when we arrive at the strike location. I am not going to outline what we have planned . . . there is no time. Just follow the orders of your assigned group leaders. Questions?"

"What of the Sultan?" a voice from the back called.

"He is free and we got to meet him now."

"Who leads us into battle?" a different voice piped up.

"I do."

"A _woman_?" The reply was derisive and disbelieving.

"She leads by _**my**_ order," Kefira cut in swiftly.

"And leads us well," someone from the center of the crowd called out, causing a ripple of assent to run through the crowd.

"If you don't like it, then leave!" another added stridently.

_**"Enough!"**_ Kefira called out, stepping forward. "We have no time for this. My sister leads us as she has done from the beginning. Follow your assigned leaders, and soon you may salute your Sultan once more." Turning, she gestured as Jessie. "Sister, we are yours to command."

With a succinct nod, Jessie turned to the man who had been put in charge of the newcomers. "Get your men. Mr. Patel, I ask that you join the Sultana, the Regent and I. Let's go."


	51. Chapter 51

**

Chapter Fifty-one

**

  


Jonny woke slowly, aware only of a throbbing in his skull that made him wish he could sink back into peaceful oblivion. But an urgency he couldn't quite place drove him forcefully back toward wakefulness and he finally relented, opening his eyes cautiously. The light sent a sharp stabbing pain through his already aching skill, causing him to moan softly and attempt to roll away from the source.

"He wakes!" a voice called. The sound seemed to come from a great distance and he turned his head toward it carefully, trying to focus on the speaker. The movement turned him toward the light again and he squinted against the stab of pain it engendered. Almost immediately the light was moved away as someone knelt beside him.

"Jonny, can you hear me?"

Jonny's mind searched sluggishly to place the voice, recognizing it as familiar. Finally, a name came.

"Hadji?" he asked hoarsely, attempting to sit up. A firm hand pressed him back down onto the rough bedding.

"Yes. Do not attempt to sit up. How do you feel?"

"Head hurts."

"I do not doubt it. How is your stomach? Are you nauseated?"

Jonny thought about that for a minute. "No," he finally replied.

"Can you see me clearly?"

"No. It's too dark."

Hadji gestured to someone in the shadows and slowly the light grew brighter again. It was a warm golden glow that flickered slightly, and its light illuminated stone, dust, and the silhouette of his brother. "Better? Can you see me now?"

"Yes."

"Is your vision blurry?"

"No." The reply was substantially stronger this time as the cobwebs in Jonny's mind rapidly cleared. Shoving Hadji's hands aside, he sat up carefully and peered into the surrounding shadows. "I'm okay. What happened?"

"You fell," Mahavir explained, setting the oil lamp in the niche near the pallet once more, and then knelt down next to Hadji.

Rubbing his head gingerly, Jonny muttered to himself in disgust. "Stupid, Quest. Blow the whole plan, why don't you? How long was I out? Did everyone make it in okay? What's happening now?"

Hadji gestured, attempting to stop the flood of questions. "One at a time, Jonny. Yes, everyone made it safely inside. We had to change the strategy a little, but everyone got in safely and without being seen. All but a handful of men are in their designated locations awaiting the signal to strike, however we still have a bit of time. Hold still. I wish to check your head."

Hadji's probing fingers caused Jonny to wince noticeably as they moved over the sensitive spot where his skull had connected with the tile floor. "Hey! That hurts!"

"You are lucky that you have such a hard head," Hadji observed dryly. "There does not appear to be any permanent damage, but I want you to be careful for a time. I would be much happier if we had a doctor who could examine you."

Jonny shook his head and immediately regretted the action as the world around him rocked unsteadily. "I'm okay," he repeated grimly. Shoving Hadji's restraining hands away, he used the wall to help himself rise to his feet. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Several hours," Mahavir replied. "We were beginning to become concerned."

"What time is it now?"

Hadji stood hastily and grabbed for Jonny's arm as he swayed unsteadily. "A little before 8:00. I wish you would sit down again. You should not be up yet."

"I told you . . . I'm fine," Jonny said impatiently. "Where are we with the attack?"

Hadji sighed in resignation, knowing there was no stopping him now that he was awake. "Everyone is in place," he repeated, "and they know what to do. I just hope you are right about being able to recognize Jessie's signal."

"Do we know where Birla is?"

Hadji and Mahavir exchanged a look and then Hadji replied reluctantly, "Yes, but there is a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"It appears that he has become extremely wary since our last attack on the palace. He no longer trusts any of the palace offices, including the ones my mother and I used to use, suspecting they are being monitored. With his own office and quarters destroyed, he was forced to find a new location to serve as a center of command."

"Yeah . . . so?"

"He selected the reception area of the throne room."

Jonny frowned at the two. "But that's a good thing, right? There is easy access to that area through the passageways. We can be on top of them before they even know we're there."

Hadji shook his head. "No longer. Your attack on the throne room may not have succeeded in stopping Mr. Birla himself, but it did obliterate the room and most of its contents. We are lucky that the walls of the palace are so thick and well constructed. The stone contained the blast so not a great deal else was damaged. It was the same with the corridor charges."

"Hadji, you're stalling. Get to the point."

"None of the bombs broke down the walls between the rooms and the secret passages. They are still undiscovered and secure, so we did not meet with any resistance within the corridors. However . . ."

**"HADJI!** Just **TELL** ME!"

Hadji sighed heavily. "However, the ceilings of the passageways around the throne room and its reception area collapsed. We cannot reach any of the access panels in that area."

A sense of dread filled Jonny. "How close can we get?"

"The nearest accessible panel is into an antechamber that is being closely watched. And the chamber is a good 600 meters up a heavily guarded corridor. To get out into an area where we will not be observed means exiting very near the formal ballroom . . ."

"Which is in an entirely different wing from the throne room," Jonny finished for him.

Hadji nodded. "Yes. If we are to take their stronghold here in the palace by force, we will have to fight for every meter of ground we gain. Also, you were correct in your assessment of Mr. Birla's reaction to the increasing pressure put on him by both us and Jessie and Kefira. He has become extremely paranoid and all of the regular personnel have been locked in the dungeon so we can expect no help from those already within the palace. It is totally controlled by the Janissaries and a small contingent of men from the old, corrupt families . . . including the Rafiq family."

Something in Hadji's tone caused Jonny to stare at him sharply. "Is there some significance to that?"

"Yes. Those that follow Birla have abandoned their homes and come to the palace en mass, probably driven out by the people who worked their lands. That means women and children are here, as well."

"Yeah?"

"So Kefira's eldest sister married the only direct-line blood son of the head of the Rafiq family. Daria is somewhere in the complex of rooms near Birla's command area. I have no doubt of it."

"Son of a bitch!" Jonny snarled. "Things just keep getting better and better. On top of everything else, now we have to get Kefira's sister out of there."

"Yes. And I have no idea how we are going to do that."

"Excellency . . ."

Hadji glanced over at Mahavir. "What?"

The young man shifted uneasily, but held his ground, staring back at them resolutely. "Daria Rafiq is not our concern and you must not try to make her one."

"Of course she is our concern! Mr. Patel, she is my wife's sister!"

Mahavir shook his head sharply. "No. You must not think of her in this fashion. Now she is of the Rafiq family and one of our enemies. She holds neither obligation nor loyalty to your wife any longer." Seeing the expression of outrage on both young men's faces, he pushed on forcefully before either could interrupt. "If you had been raised here, Excellency, you would understand. You assume that all women support your attempts to break down the old ways and give them more freedom. Most do, but not all women are badly treated under the established system, and there are a great many of them who find comfort and security its rigidity. It defines their world, makes clear what is expected of them, and gives them purpose. Because of this, they do not object to living within its confines. Daria Rafiq is one such person. I can say this with absolute surety because I have known her and her family since I was a small child. She never wanted anything more than to be married and live a traditional life. She has been very vocal in her support of her new family and campaigns incessantly among the other wives in support of Arun Birla and his decision to uphold the old ways. I promise you that Mr. Birla's recent setbacks will not have changed her attitude. If you attempt to remove her from her new family and return her to your wife's side, you will put the Sultana in serious jeopardy."

"She is still my wife's sister. Marrying into the Rafiq family did not change that. With the rest of their family dead, I cannot leave her among my enemies where she risks being hurt or killed. Every effort must be made to free her."

"But Excellency, she is not a prisoner!"

"Enough, Mr. Patel! I will hear no more about it."

"Please, Excellency," Mahavir begged desperately. "At least allow your wife to know what you plan before you attempt anything."

"What will be, will be, Mr. Patel. If the opportunity presents itself, I will not hesitate. Now go and join the others. My brother and I will be with you shortly."

Mahavir turned to Jonny, the appeal clear, but Jonny just shook his head. "I gotta agree with Hadji on this one, Mahavir. We can't leave her with them. Trust me, she'll be glad enough to be out of that den of vipers once we get her in the clear. Now go on." Finally, Mahavir's shoulders slumped and he gave up. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness of the nearby corridor. Jonny just shook his head. "Boy, he must really dislike her."

"Daria is easy to dislike," Hadji replied dryly. "You will understand once you have met her. Are you sure you are well enough for this?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. The headache's even starting to go away. Don't worry about it. Were you able to figure out who the newcomers were?"

Hadji shook his head. "No. They were well into Birla's "safe zone" before we got into the main portion of the palace. We have overhead guards talking among themselves, and we were correct that they were expected, but none of the men seemed to know them or why they were here, either."

Jonny sighed. "Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough. Come on, let's go. It won't be long now and I want to scope out the terrain before we have to fight to take it."

"Now _that_ is a cheerful thought," Hadji said grimly as the two of them set off into the dark passageways, heading to meet their destiny.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Sir, we have the guards from the postern door reporting that they have a man demanding to see Mr. Birla." The field commander turned to the leader of the Janissaries, awaiting his orders.

The man lounged back in his chair lazily, thinking about that bit of news. "Who is this man?"

"His name is Naik. He claims to have worked for you in Panjal Province."

A slow, unpleasant smile lit the Captain's face. "Ah yes, Mr. Naik. I wondered what had become of him." Raising his voice, he called out across the room, **"Excellency!"**

Birla looked up in irritation at the curt summons and gave the Janissary Captain a fierce glare. Then he returned to what he had been doing. The Captain chuckled and glanced off-handedly at the Commander, who was still standing next to the radio. "He believes that he can ignore me."

"Perhaps he feels that his position as the client earns him certain rights . . . like courtesy."

"What, Commander? Are you saying that you like the man?"

"No!" the Commander replied with profound distaste, "but it is not necessary for us to like a client . . . only to treat him with professionalism, and that includes respect for his position."

The Captain snorted. "Treat that one with respect, Commander, and eventually you will lose your head. The only way to control one such as Birla is to keep them in fear of you. Furthermore, there is respect due me as well, and I will not tolerate his attitude."

As the Captain yelled for Birla again, the Commander turned away in disgust. _Respect is earned, not granted by a title,_ he thought sourly to himself and wondered for about the hundredth time which of the two men he hated more. Unbidden, the image of the young woman with the red hair rose again. _"Tell me, Commander, how much longer will you continue to follow orders that promote the decay of your very soul?"_ A shiver ran down his spine and he wondered again how a complete stranger could have read his heart so accurately. He couldn't seem to get the woman out of his thoughts. That she was a stunning beauty was without question. Certainly, he had had his share of women in his time, but he never remembered a time when one had struck at him the way this one had. With hair was like the flames from the encampment fire at the end of a long day and grace without equal, she had moved out of the smoke on the field of battle that morning like some long-forgotten vision of a goddess of war. And unlike any woman he had ever met, she had stood up to him, verbalizing the very questions that had been eating him alive for a long time now. She had treated he and his men with respect and honor, something that he had learned the hard way not to expect from anyone . . . not even his own people. But she did not command . . . at least, not in the ultimate sense. She commanded field troops by the order of another woman . . . Sultana Singh. He remembered walking among the people the two women commanded. That they hated him and his men was obvious. And yet their reverence for Sultana Singh was such that no one even tried to lash out at them. In a quiet voice she had told her people that they would be allowed to pass, and they had been. A few had even offered what care they could to the injured. Surreptitiously, he glanced sidewise at Birla who had finally replied to the Captain's summons. A woman of honor, harassed and hunted by a power-hungry tyrant with no honor at all. Indeed, how much longer could he live under such conditions?

_A soldier follows orders,_ he told himself grimly. _To defy those who hold the right to your allegiance is also a form of dishonor, and you have never been dishonorable in your life. Do as you are ordered and know that sooner or later, this one will fall._

"Tell the guards to let him pass," Birla said to the Commander curtly, his expression sour. "What does he want, anyway? Opening any of the doors to the palace just now is unsafe."

"I am told that he would not say why he wished to speak with you. Only that he had something that he knew you would want."

Birla growled softly in disgust. "The man is a lazy nuisance . . . hardly worth the trouble."

"I disagree," the Captain responded. "He proved to be highly effective in keeping Rajeev Subramanian occupied. That one would have caused you a great deal more trouble had not Naik ensured that he had other, more vital issues to concentrate on. Furthermore, he shows initiative." The Captain snorted in disgust. "A great deal more than his dimwitted cousin, certainly."

Birla shrugged. "Every family has at least one that has no ambition . . . even one as old and respectable as the Rafiq family. I am aware that Subir has been a disappointment to his father, but what can you do? He is the only son."

"He would do well to embrace his sister's son and forget about his own. That man could make their fortunes."

Birla eyed the Janissary Captain coldly. "Obviously, you do not understand our customs. He can no more embrace his sister's son than you can."

The Captain laughed outright. "He can do anything he likes if he sets his mind to it. And he'd do well to do it, too . . . before his entire family collapses from dimwittedness."

Approaching footsteps caused the two men to stop needling each other and turn toward the large archway on the other side of the room. The field commander eyed the newcomers warily when he appeared in the doorway. Of medium height with dark eyes and black hair, he appeared to appeared very ordinary. But a second, closer examination detected a stubborn set to his mouth that spoke of a sour temperament, and his eyes darted around the room restlessly. The Commander was immediately wary. He had never seen the man before, but what he saw now he didn't like at all. After a cursory glance around the room, the man advanced toward Birla. It was only then that the Commander observed that the man wasn't alone. Stumbling along behind him was another individual, obviously a captive. A filthy blanket had been thrown over the individual's head and then bound in place tightly with a rope, which was then being used like a leash to drag the prisoner along behind. The captive was obviously bound underneath the blanket, as well, and the combination obviously made motion extremely difficult. Just inside the doorway the captive stumbled and fell. Naik snapped sharply in Hindi and jerked on the rope viciously, but his captive was unable to rise again. With a curse, he kicked the bound figure until it no longer moved, and then began dragging his burden across the floor with no regard to what injury he might cause. Finally he came to a stop in front of Birla and bowed deeply.

"Excellency, I bid you good day. I am glad to be safely within the palace and to see you again."

"What is it you want, Naik? I am busy and have no time for your sniveling platitudes."

"Why, to bring you a gift, Excellency . . . one I believe you will appreciate and put to good use."

Birla's lip curled. "What use do I have for some starving peasant? It smells like a goat. Get it away!"

"Are you certain, Excellency? This is a particularly significant peasant. Here, allow me to show you."

Bending down, he took a knife and sliced through the rope that bound the blanket to his captive. Then, with a sharp yank, he pulled the blanket off and straightened once more. "I believe, Excellency, that you offered a reward to anyone who could deliver one of the royal family into your hands?" Using one foot, he rolled his semi-conscious prisoner over where Birla could get a good look. "So I give you Lady Neela Singh, mother of the Sultan."

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


_"Gone!_ What do you mean, _**gone???**_" They were less than a mile from the palace now and had taken refuge in the deserted courtyard of an abandoned house when one of the guardsmen had come running up with the breathless news that Neela Singh was nowhere to be found.

The man facing Jessie and Kefira gazed at them miserably as he shifted from one foot to the other. "I - I cannot explain it, Excellency," he said in a desperate tone. "We were passing the bazaar, and - and - it is - everything was fine. No one appeared to be paying any particular attention to us. I glanced back to be certain that the Regent was not falling behind again and she was right _there_. I turned back to scan the street and then when I turned around again a moment later, she was just _gone_. I searched, Excellency. I swear that I did. But I could not find her anywhere!"

"I do not believe this!" Kefira exclaimed in agitation.

Laying a calming hand on her shoulder, Jessie asked quietly, "You said you checked to see if she had fallen behind 'again'. Had someone been slowing her down?"

The man shook his head sharply. "No, Lady. If it had appeared that someone was attempting to separate us, I would have called for you. No, she kept stopping. She would see someone who appeared injured or upset and she could not seem to pass them by. I tried to explain to her that she had to keep up with the others - that she was endangering herself by doing this - and she would apologize and for a while, things would be fine. But then something would catch at her and she would stop again . . ."

"You should have had someone stay with her," Kefira snapped, her distress making her short-tempered and angry.

"There _was_ someone with her," the man replied with equal distress. "Mr. Patel's man was in line behind her. I even warned him to see that she did not tarry and get separated from the rest us."

"What man?" Vijay demanded, his head whipping around to stare that the rattled guardsman.

"The man you sent to the Sultana . . . to guide her to you. When he offered, I thought . . . as he was one of yours and you had trusted him as a messenger to the Sultana . . ." The man trailed off at Vijay's blank gaze.

Both Jessie and Kefira looked questioningly at Vijay, who just shook his head. "I sent no one to the Sultana. Who was this man?"

"I have no idea," Jessie replied, frowning. "As the guard said . . . he appeared just before you did. Said he had been sent by you to guide Kefira out of the city and to safety. At the time, I thought it was a little strange because we'd already confirmed with Hadji that we were on the way, but his argument about Kefira's safety made sense and once you showed up, I didn't give it any further thought. When I looked for him again, he'd disappeared and I assumed he rejoined the rest of your men."

"I sent no one," Vijay repeated. Looking around at the men that encircled them, he asked, "Did anyone know him?"

Hesitantly, Hemant spoke up. "I did not know him, Mr. Patel . . . not to know his name, but I do know that he worked at Mr. Subramanian's mine. I had seen him there."

Kefira shook her head. "No. I know all of the men that worked the family mines, and I had never seen him before."

"He was new, Excellency," Hemant replied respectfully. "Hired after you left for America. He worked as the main gate guard at the new mine your father acquired from the Rafiq family."

"Describe him!" Vijay demanded.

"About five foot eight, straight black hair that was long and rather shaggy, dark eyes, and close-set ears," Jessie replied promptly. "He tended to slouch and when he stood, he leaned slightly to the left because he stood with most of his weight on that leg. He had a barely visible, crescent-shaped scar on his chin and another on the outside corner of his left eye. He'd had an acne problem when he was younger and it had left his skin rough and pitted, although I suspect he might also have suffered from small pox or a severe case of chicken pox as a young child because he showed a little bit of similar scarring on his arms and legs, too. He'd also had pierced ears once upon a time, but had let them grow closed." She closed her eyes, calling up the image she had of the man. "He fights, probably a lot, because his hands are all marked up, particularly across his knuckles. He was barefoot when he came to us, but he's not accustomed to going around that way because his feet didn't have the calluses that come from going around barefooted on a regular basis." She glanced at Kefira and shrugged at the woman's astonished expression. "I noticed blood on the floor where he'd been standing. You want more?"

"No," Vijay said grimly. "I believe that is enough. Did he give you any sort of name?"

"Simul was all he said."

Vijay uttered an oath in Hindi that made even Jessie blink. "Simul Naik. Believe me, he was no man of mine. I would never have him."

"Who is he?" Kefira demanded.

"A member of the Rafiq family by default . . . son of Subir Rafiq's aunt - his father's sister. She had defied custom and run away with a local man without family or providence. He was killed a few years later, and with nowhere else to go, the woman returned to her father, bringing a son with her. The Rafiq family took the boy in and raised him."

"And Mr. Rafiq's sister?" Jessie asked.

Vijay's gaze fell. "She . . ." He trailed off at her look and then sighed. "She had shamed her family and they would not have her back. She died some months later."

"How?" Kefira demanded, her expression grim.

"Of starvation."

"Geezus!" Jessie exclaimed, horrified, but when she looked around she saw only acceptance. "That's _barbaric!_"

Hastily, Vijay returned to the earlier topic before the conversation could continue, "I had heard that he had gone to work for your father, Excellency, and had warned Rajeev about him, however your father would only say that Subir had vouched for him and that he was not in a position to refuse him work."

"You think he has taken Neela?" Jessie asked.

"I would not put it past him if he thought there was a profit to be made."

"_Profit?_ What profit can he possibly think to gain by taking the Regent?" Kefira demanded incredulously. "Surely he realizes that Hadji will have his head!"

Vijay hesitated and then shrugged at her outraged look. "Unfortunately, a good deal of profit, Excellency. Mr. Birla has put a bounty on the heads of all of the royal family . . . including you. A man could become extremely wealthy by bringing any one of you to him."

"That's it!" Jessie said decisively. "We're out of time." She looked at her watch and then gestured to a man standing nearby. "You're on, Mr. McCaffrey." She tossed him a small radio. "You understand what you have to do?"

The man's grin was feral. "Yes. Don't worry. I'll get the news out."

"Just remember, you won't have very long. The men I sent to that receiver aren't going to try to hold it. It would be suicide. So you'll only have as long as it takes Birla's Janissary Captain to realize we've commandeered his receiver and send someone to take it back."

"It'll be long enough."

"Good. Then get started." As McCaffrey moved off, she turned to the boy at her left. "Hemant, I need to see -" She broke off as he turned and dragged a box out from behind a large planter full of flowers sitting at the edge of the patio. Jessie immediately recognized various pieces of the missile launcher. "What the -"

The boy interrupted her. "I knew you would need it, Lady. So while you attended to other things, I went to the various leaders and collected the pieces for you."

Jessie shook her head as she counted the pieces in the box. Every one was there. Straightening, she looked at the boy seriously. "Hemant, I am pleased by your initiative, but this was a very dangerous thing to do. What would have happened if a member of the Janissaries or someone loyal to Mr. Birla had stopped you on the street while you were carrying one of these parts?"

Hemant shrugged. "People do not look at children, Lady. Usually, we are either ignored or kicked out of the way. There was much less risk for me to do this thing than for you to try to go to the various leaders yourself or to have them come to you. I am sorry if my actions have angered you."

"What's done is done," she replied with a sigh and then patted him on the shoulder. "And it _was_ well done, my friend. I just ask that you never do such a thing again . . . at least, not without asking me first."

Hemant bowed his head respectfully. "It shall be as you command, Lady." But no one in the circle around the two missed the boy's delighted grin at Jessie's praise.

"Jessica!" McCaffrey called from across the courtyard. "Your man at the receiver is good. He managed to get me a clear, unmonitored phone connection to our Indian affiliate, who patched me through directly to New York. I'm on a 10 minute count to a special broadcast. They're even going to feed it to all of the other networks worldwide at the same time. We should get saturation airtime all over the world. And because the setup was on a private, encrypted signal, our enemies shouldn't have a clue of what's coming. We've bought ourselves extra airtime. I'm going to broadcast from right in front of the palace, so I'm heading out now to get into place."

"Peter, wait! It's too dangerous . . . you'll be a sitting duck!"

McCaffrey grinned. "Maybe, but they'll find that I don't make an easy target. This isn't the first time I've broadcast from a warzone. Furthermore, we want the world to see what the Sultan and his wife are up against. Don't worry. This will work. Pulitzer Prize-winning stuff, I promise you. I'll see you at the front gates." And with a final wave, he disappeared, taking his hastily assigned cameraman with him.

Jessie spun, gesturing to the men who were closing in around her as she reached down and began reassembling the missile launcher. "I want the forward team to go now. Provide as much cover fire for Mr. McCaffrey as you can when he starts to broadcast, but don't forget that your primary objective will be the men on the wall of the palace. The start of your assault will be the trigger to bring the rest of our forces out of their assigned places. Be sure you secure the avenue and plaza in front of the gate into the palace. The Sultana and I will be no more than five minutes behind you. When the front wall of the palace comes down, we hit hard and fast. No quarter is to be given to any soldier you face. Do not think they will give you any, because they will not. These men have been trained to win and they are led by a man with no honor, so they will stop at nothing."

Her gaze was hard as she scanned the intent faces around her. "You have all heard the reports that our enemy has been consolidating those loyal to him within the walls of the palace. That means that there may be women and children inside. We do not slaughter the innocent, no matter who they owe allegiance to. _**However**_ . . ." Here she paused and stared at each man individually, trying by the strength of her own will to impress on them the importance of her next words. "However, _anyone_ who raises a weapon against you . . . man, woman or child . . . is your enemy and must be treated as such. I will not lose men because of an idea that a woman or a child is not as capable of killing as a man. Is that clear?"

Many of them shifted uneasily, but one by one they all nodded their understanding. Straightening abruptly, she snapped the carry strap onto the reassembled missile launcher and slung it across her back, anchoring it securely with the waist strap. "Then it's time we get this over with. Go with God, my friends. May he smile upon us and what we try to do today."

With a respectful bow, the men turned and faded quickly out of the building, leaving only about ten men behind. Jessie gazed at them in confusion. "You should go with -"

But one of them stepped forward, shaking his head. "No, Lady. It was agreed." He gestured at the remaining men. "We are your personal guard . . . yours and the Sultana's. It is our job to see that the two of you remain safe. No one will touch either of you while any of us live." 

When Jessie would have protested, Vijay laid a hand on her shoulder. "There is much wisdom in this, Lady. These men follow you. We lose the war if we lose either of you. Allow them the honor of this service."

Jessie and Kefira's gaze locked and after a moment, Kefira shrugged. "I doubt they would accept 'no' anyway, sister. In this case, it is probably better to relent with grace." Finally, Jessie nodded.

Vijay gestured to one of the men. "Check the street. We do not wish to be caught unaware coming out of this house. There has been enough coming and going that it is possible our enemy is alerted." The man nodded and silently moved to the door that led out of the courtyard. For a long moment, he searched the scene before him. At any other time, the streets would be alive with cars, beast of burden, and people. But the fighting had driven most to seek shelter. Those who could afford to do so had left the city, hoping to find safety in the open countryside. Those who could not, barricaded themselves within their homes and waited to see who would win the struggle for dominance of their country. Today the street was empty, it's silence seeming ominous in the bright morning sunshine. Occasionally, the sound of fighting and distant gunfire could be heard, but after a time the silence would descend once more and the sense of waiting would return. Finally, the man turned and nodded.

Vijay turned and bowed to the two women. "We ask that you stay together. These men will surround you on all sides. They will shield you from unseen gunmen and will serve as a wedge if crowd impede your progress. When we reach the palace, you need only say the word and they will give way so that you may lead the strike against our enemies." At a single gesture, the men fell in surrounding the two women. With Vijay in the lead, they left the courtyard and headed for the final confrontation at the palace.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"We can't do it," Jonny said flatly. His voice was low, but carried absolute conviction. "They've got that corridor too well covered. It would be suicide."

"But we cannot stop now!" Hadji protested.

"I didn't say stop. I just said that our original plan of hitting them head-on isn't going to work. We're going to have to try something else."

"What?"

Jonny shrugged. "I see two possibilities. Their current position has both pluses and minuses. On the plus side, it's got long, clear corridors with good visibility and little or no cover. It's also easily defendable and their positioning ensures that no one can come at them from behind. But on the down side, there's only one way in or out. Pin them down and we can starve them out."

"That will take a long time," Hadji said in dissatisfaction.

"True. The other choice is to post men to keep them pinned down in their bolt hole, and then take the rest of our men and hit the guards at the front of the palace from behind as they try to hold against Jessie and Kefira's assault. That plan has the advantage of increasing our fighting force and, hopefully, netting us some weapons that will make taking the rest of the palace easier."

"It will also allow us to unite with Jessie and Kefira so that we can fight together."

Jonny's grin was clearly visible in the light from the muffled flashlight one of the men held. "There is that."

"Then that is what we shall do," Hadji said decisively.

"Good enough," Jonny agreed. "Mahavir, you said you know the palace."

"Yes."

"Then you've got the job of seeing that our friends outside the throne room stay put. Take what men you need and get going. Just don't let them break free and come at us from behind because we won't have anywhere to bolt to. The passageways in that area have been destroyed, too."

"They will not get past us," Mahavir replied grimly. "I will take the men who are watching the corridors already and leave all of the others for you." At Jonny's nod of agreement, he reached out and caught Jonny's forearm in a strong grip. "Good luck, my friend. I will see you very soon."

"We'll be there. Just hang on until we can join you." Mahavir nodded, and then left at a run.

Turning back to Hadji, he checked his watch. "It's 8:50. We need to get out of these passageways so we're ready when things start to happen."

"We must hurry if we are to get to the front wall before they strike," Hadji said in a low, breathless voice as they moved quickly into the passageways again.

Jonny shook his head. "No. We were told to stay clear of the front of the palace, remember? I still don't know what Jess has planned and until we do, we're going to wait well back. As soon as she makes her opening strike, we can move in and back it up. Our main objective will be to find the weak point in the line against them and break it so they have a clear avenue into the palace. Agreed?"

Hadji nodded and then moved to the head of the column of men. "Follow me. I know the perfect place." Hadji led them swiftly through the passages, picking up other groups of men along the way as word passed about the change of plans. Finally, he waved everyone to a stop and motioned them to silence. Then he slid an eavesdropping panel aside and scanned the room on the other side. Finally, he whispered, "Stay here," and before anyone could stop him, he triggered the secret door and slid out into the room. It was a bedroom, an elaborate one, with huge tapestries hanging on the walls, a series of divans for seating, and a huge platform bed swathed in netting and drapes standing in the middle of the room. Moving around the bed, he crossed the room, and disappeared through the door on the far side of the room. In the passageways, Jonny uttered a soft oath and reached for the release mechanism to the hidden panel, but a hand stopped him.

"Wait," one of the men with him breathed softly. "Look."

Hadji had reappeared once more. Closing the door behind him, he gestured at them to join him. Releasing an exasperated breath, Jonny triggered the panel and slipping out into the room, closely followed by the others.

"Warn me the next time you plan on disappearing, will ya?" he hissed at his brother. "You about gave me heart failure." He glanced around him. "Where are we?"

"In the guest wing," Hadji replied in a low but clearly audible tone. "There is no sign of anyone in the vicinity."

"If Birla's brought all of his supporters -" Jonny began in alarm, but Hadji shook his head.

"They will not be using these chambers. They are too far away from him. These people may say they are loyal, but Mr. Birla will not trust them out of his sight for long. With all of the normal inhabitants of the palace held in the dungeons, there are a host of other living quarters closer to the throne room where he can put those people and be able to keep an eye on them. These chambers are the ones used for visiting dignitaries and other important people and are closer to the main gate." A soft smile flickered across this face. "This is the chamber that Kefira and her family were staying in when I first met her."

Jonny grinned at him. "Which means there's a long hallway outside with a blind corner not far from this room, right?" Hadji nodded and both young men laughed softly as if at some private joke.

"This is as safe a place to wait as any other, but we are close enough to the front entrance to the palace to be able to get there quickly once Jessie makes her move."

Jonny checked his watch again. "Which should be just about any time now," he replied and rotated the watch face so Hadji could see it just as the digital readout changed to read 9:00 a.m.

For the space of two heartbeats, they all waited in tense silence, unsure what to expect. Suddenly, the stones under their feet heaved and the sound of a tremendous explosion reached them. Several of the men were thrown to the floor as the others staggered desperately trying to keep their feet. Cries of fear and astonishment echoed through the room as Hadji and Jonny stared at each other in stunned amazement.

"What has she done?" Hadji yelled at his brother.

"It sounds like she -" But before he could finish, they all heard a distinctive whine and then the world erupted for a second time.

"Holy shit, she's got a missile launcher!" Jonny yelled over the sounds of the explosions and falling stone. "She's taking down the front walls of the palace!" And with that, he was gone, running full-tilt for the ruins of the front of the Royal Palace of Bangalore.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Stop them!" the Janissary Captain screamed into a hand-held radio. "I don't care if you have to destroy the equipment, just stop that transmission!" Behind him, Birla and a crowd of others stood frozen, watching the report being broadcast from their front doorstep.

"I warned you," the Commander said to his leader. "She is here, and she brings her Sultana with her. If you are wise, you will -"

"That is Kefira!" a woman's voice suddenly shrilled, as Birla snarled wordlessly.

The men spun, and spotted two women standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the center of the chaos displayed on the television screen. They were dressed identically in pure black and their expressions caused that superstitious thrill to run through the Commander once more, just as it had the first time he had seen this pair. They looked like vengeance personified. As they moved forward, their escort melting from around them, the morning sun caught the pendant that hung openly around the Indian's woman's neck and the gem in it flashed blood red. A gasp ran through the assembled throng and someone cried out, "The Heart of Bangalore . . . it is the Sultana!"

The Captain lifted his radio again, thumbed a button and yelled, "All men on the forward battlements, you are to eliminate the two women. Do it NOW before they -"

But even as he spoke, the redhead said something to the Sultana who replied and gestured toward the palace. In a single, fluid movement, the first woman swung something from its position across her back and brought it to her shoulder. As she pulled the trigger, the Commander said emotionlessly once more, "I warned you," and an instant later the palace shook with the force of the first hit.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"It's time we move inside!" Jessie yelled, waving at the men around her. "Watch your backs. We're going to meet resistance, so use whatever cover you can find. Remember, our goals are to locate the Sultan and to find and take Birla and the leader of the Janissaries. Follow me!" The missile launcher was once again strapped across her back and with a burst of covering fire, she leaped up and sprinted toward the rubble that marked the front of the palace. A spattering of return fire greeted her advance, but none of it came close. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her troops surge forward, following her lead and on her right she could hear rapid breathing that marked someone close on her heels. Glancing back, she saw that regardless of her orders, Kefira had followed her.

"Damn it, Kefira! I told you to hang back until we have entry secured!" she panted, throwing another burst of fire toward one of the sources targeting her.

"No," was Kefira's only reply as she fired at a man who stood and was taking aim at Jessie. Suddenly, return fire intensified as a new group of mercenaries appeared from a corridor that was now visible through the rubble. Both women hastily dove for cover and before long an intense firefight was underway. After a short stalemate, a group of men on Jessie's right let out a bloodcurdling yell and surged forward in an unplanned attempt to overwhelm the resistance. Their fellows immediately tried to lay down covering fire, but the mercenaries were now dug in behind good cover and they exacted a terrible toll before the men were forced to fall back again, unable to penetrate the defensive wall.

"What do we do now?" Kefira yelled over the cacophony around her.

"The only thing we can," Jessie screamed back. "Keep hitting them until we break through!"

"What about using the grenades and explosives?"

"That stuff is still under cover with the rear lines. Furthermore, we'll need it once we're inside."

"The missile launcher again?"

"No. We're too close. And the remaining shells are with the grenades. I could only carry two of them. We're going to have to do it the hard way."

Twisting around, she pointed off to her left and gestured. She followed that with a series of similar gestures at other groups of men around her. Finally, she raised her hand, one finger pointing skyward, and waved it in a circle above her head, finishing the gesture by folding her fingers into a tight fist and jerking her arm downward in a pre-arranged signal. Immediately, the first group burst from cover, sprinting for a pile of header stones that had fallen in the initial assault while behind them, another group stood and sent a hail of bullets into the hidden defenses inside the palace. The instant the first group reached cover, another group stood and began firing as their counterparts surged forward past Jessie and Kefira, reloading as they ran. In this fashion, the assault force leapfrogged closer and closer to the entrance of the palace. 

Jessie and Kefira kept pace with the advance, watching their goal closely and coordinating their assault. With each foot of ground they gained, they lost men, but none of those remaining faltered. Jessie was just about to order the final charge to the entrance when she saw one of the mercenaries stand and complete a movement she knew well.

**"GRENADE!"** she screamed and dived away, shoving Kefira in the opposite direction as the man lobbed the explosive directly toward their hiding place. The instant she came out into the open, bullets began striking all around her. Without a second thought, she opened up with her automatic rifle and ran toward the opening, screaming like a banshee.

_"Jessie!!!!"_ Kefira cried and then followed her, firing wildly. The sight of their leaders' forward charge triggered the rest of their men to follow. Jessie and Kefira were within ten feet of the shattered entrance when three men rose up and took pointblank aim at them. The two of them tried to bring their guns up to defend themselves, but it was too late. The men smiled nastily and then both women registered the sound of gunshots. The five of them stood frozen, staring at each other until, one at a time, the three men fell face-first onto the floor.

"Are you _crazy_?" a voice screamed over the sounds of the fighting, and suddenly a young, black-hair man in Indian garb appeared in the shattered entryway. "Don't just stand there. You're going to get shot!"

Jessie blinked at the sound of the beloved voice. "Jonny?" Her eyes locked with the sapphire blue ones of the man standing in front of her and suddenly she screamed, _**"JONNY!!!!!!!"**_ With a wild leap, she crossed the remaining distance, landing on the tile right next to him. As her feet touched the floor, bullets zinged off of the wall around her and the two of them dove for cover. She landed on her belly and slid awkwardly across the tile until she came to a stop against a set of legs. She looked up and her gaze locked with Hadji's just as Kefira came careening through the gap in the wall.

"Jessie, they are being cut down out there! We have to _**do**_ something!"

Jessie scrambled on hands and knees across the floor to where the Janissary guard lay unmoving. Grabbing him by the jacket, she turned him over and searched frantically until, with a grunt of satisfaction, she found what she was looking for. Coming to her feet, she ran back to the breech in the front wall. Leaning out, she whistled sharply and gestured for her forces to take cover. The men responded immediately as she lobbed the grenade she had taken from their adversary into a nearby alcove that was serving as cover for six Janissary soldiers who were systematically picking off her men with automatic weapons fire.

"Front three groups to me!" she yelled at them when the noise of the explosion had died away. "The rest of you, provide them with cover fire. Move it, move it, move it!!!" Before long, men were streaming in through the shattered opening, as first one group after another worked their way across the open space to enter the palace. Jessie kept up a steady barrage of cover fire from just inside the doorway as Kefira kept the new arrivals moving to ensure that a traffic jam didn't develop that would leave their men stranded out in the open and vulnerable. Jessie was also dimly aware of both Jonny and Hadji shouting orders from somewhere behind her as another phalanx of men began spreading out along the inner corridors of the demolished front of the palace. A number of her own men followed them and soon she heard gunfire to her left and right within the building as their forces hunted down and stilled the remaining resistance.

And suddenly, . . . it seemed almost without warning . . . it was over. No more gunfire. No more yells of defiance. No more calls to fight. Only the sounds of falling stone, the harsh panting of winded men, and the cries of the wounded. As the adrenalin in her system peaked and began to drain away, Jessie moved to stand in the opening to the outside world and looked back on the way they had come. She stared for a long time at the carnage that spread out before her, her surroundings strangely muted and her mind numb. Abruptly, she began to shake and her gun fell from nerveless fingers to clatter loudly in the unnatural silence. So many dead . . . and it was only the first battle in their fight to retake the palace. Then she was grabbed and strong arms enveloped her, pulling her into a warm embrace as he whispered her name in a choked voice "Jonny," was all she had time for before his mouth locked onto hers in a kiss that obliterated everything else around her.

As the realization of the cessation of the fighting hit Kefira, she turned to look around her. Most of the men were gone now, having moved into the nearby corridors to take up defensive positions and to begin the systematic room-to-room searches that would ferret out their enemies. Then she spotted Jonny and Jessie. Locked together, they clung to each other as if they would never let go. She started toward them, looking everywhere for some sign of Hadji. She had just about reached them when he appeared at the head of a corridor that led straight back into the heart of the palace. They stared at each other across the dirt and rock strewn floor, neither seeming to be able to move or speak.

Finally, Hadji swallowed, and said hoarsely, "I am . . . sorry . . . so sorry."

She took a hesitant step toward him, unsure of the expression on his face or what he meant. "Sorry for what?" she asked as she carefully moved another step toward him. For some reason, she knew with a certainty so deep it terrified her, that if she moved too quickly or said the wrong thing, he would run from her. And if he did that . . . then she might never get him back. He shook his head wordlessly and retreated a step. She moved forward again. "Sorry for what, husband?"

He raised a hand as if to ward off a blow, and replied, "Sorry . . . for it all. I never should have . . . you could be killed . . ."

"As could you."

"I have no choice. It is my responsibility."

"As it is mine."

"No," he replied in a stronger voice and retreated again. "The price is too high. I cannot continue to be the cause . . ."

"You are not the cause of anything," she replied, following him step for step. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jonny and Jessie turn, the tableau playing out now finally catching their attention. She saw Jessie lay a hand on Jonny's arm and shake her head, preventing him from interfering. "And only I can be the judge of whether the price I pay is too high to bear."

"Kefira, your family is **dead**! Your parents, your brothers and sister . . . your home is burned to the ground and there is nothing left! _**All**_ of that is because of me! And now you return only to be asked to wage a war and watch people you care about die all around you. I cannot believe that you do not see that this is too much for me to ask of you!" Around them, men began appearing once again, returning to report on their progress and to receive further instruction. All of them froze, maintained a breathless silence as the two young people faced each other across twenty feet of open space that might as well have been infinity.

Kefira stopped and stared at him, pain and anguish welling up in spite of her struggle to keep her composure. Finally, she gestured helplessly and asked in a choked voice, "So what would you have me do, husband? Where would you have me go?"

"Somewhere safe! Away from all of this!"

Tears fell unchecked now, but with her last ounce of strength, she bowed to him. "Then it shall be as you command, Excellency." Reaching up, she caught the ruby pendant and removed it from around her neck. Bending down, she laid it gently at her feet. Then she removed the wedding band from her finger and laid it along side. Straightening, she silently bowed once more and then turned and walked toward the shattered opening.

Hadji's face was contorted in agony as he watched her go, but he made no move to stop her. Staring incredulously at his brother, Jonny pulled out of Jessie's grasp and reached out to grasp her arm as she passed him.

"Kefira, don't -"

She looked at him and he shuddered at what he saw. Tears still streamed down her face, but her eyes were dull and lifeless, her expression blank. "I have no choice," she replied tonelessly, cutting him off. "He has renounced me."

"He's an idiot! It's a guilt thing . . . you know that. Give him some time."

She shook her head. "Time is not mine to give. He is my Sultan and I am honor-bound to do as he commands." Her eyes shifted and she stared at Jessie. For an instant something moved deep in her eyes that made the hair on the back of Jessie's neck stand straight up. "And my father raised us all to know and abide by what is honorable."

Jessie gasped as if she had been struck. _**"NO!"**_ she screamed and lunged at the other woman, but with a quick movement, Kefira dodged her and was gone. For an instant, Jessie thought to follow, but then stopped and whirled back to Hadji, her shock rapidly transforming into desperation. "Do you have _**any**_ idea what you've just done?" she said to him in a voice that shook noticeably.

Hadji swallowed hard but finally managed to reply. "I have freed her from this insanity. She will never have to watch people she cares about being slaughtered again."

**"Freed her?** My God, Hadji, haven't you listened to _anything_ she's told you about this place? She's honorable - from an _honorable_ family! Don't you understand what that means???"

Jonny reached out and grasped her arm. "Jess, it's his choice. Even if we don't agree -"

She threw off his hand and then took a deep breath. Turning, she pinned Vijay Patel with a piercing stare. "Mr. Patel, Rajeev Subramanian was an honorable man?"

"Yes," he replied heavily. "None more so."

"In all respects?"

"Yes."

"And he raised his children to know and do the honorable thing according to the laws and traditions of this country, correct??"

"Yes."

"And what does an honorable woman do when she is renounced by her husband?" Vijay closed his eyes, as if by doing so, he could shut out the world and the need to reply to that question. When he didn't immediately respond, Jessie demanded, "Answer me, Mr. Patel."

"She . . . ensures . . . that her failure does not stain the honor of the others in her family or her family's memory," he replied with difficulty.

"And how does she do that?" Jessie came back ruthlessly.

Suddenly, Hadji paled sharply as he realized the point Jessie was trying to make. _**"No!"**_ he whispered in desperate denial as Vijay replied in a voice filled with pain.

"She dies."


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter Fifty-two**

  


Recognizing the rhythm of the frantic knocking, the Commander gestured to the guard to open the door. He responded quickly, and three men stumbled in the instant there was enough space to do so. All three were injured, at least one with wounds that were probably fatal. As his two companions lowered him to the floor, the man looked up.

"Commander," he whispered. The Commander immediately knelt beside the man and helped to ease him down onto the cold tile. "They have . . . have gained entrance . . . into . . . the palace. We could not . . . stop . . . them. Too many . . ."

"How did they breach the walls?"

"Missiles," the man gasped. "Two. One to the . . . outer courtyard . . . wall . . . and the . . . other . . . to the . . . front . . . wall . . . of the . . . palace . . . itself." He gasped, struggling to continue, but for a long moment it was more than he was capable of. Finally, he rallied a bit and said, "Brought in . . . . ground troops. Good . . . tactics. Knew . . . how . . . to . . . fight. Had . . . help . . . from inside . . . too."

"Did you see their leader?"

The man nodded fractionally. "Woman. Red . . . hair. No . . . fear. Came right . . . at . . . us."

"You said they had help from inside. Did you see them?"

"No," the man replied faintly, his strength failing again. "Just . . . began . . . taking . . . fire from . . . the rear."

"Anyone else?

"Another . . . woman. Indian . . . dressed in . . . black . . ."

"Could she have been leading the forces on the inside?"

Again, the man shook his head no. "Right . . . behind . . . the leader . . . covering . . . her . . . Couldn't . . . stop . . . them . . . Commander. . . . Too . . . strong . . ." The man gasped again, his eyes opening wide, then his back arched spasmodically. For an instant, he was rigid and then he gasped one final time, his body went lax, and he died.

Grimly, the Commander stood, waving over several nearby men to aid the others. Without a word, he turned and strode down the corridor toward their command post to report these facts to his Captain. The knowledge that the man was staying with the rear guard, ostensibly to protect Mr. Birla, caused his stomach to roil. He was a coward, nothing more.

As he stepped into the large open area that served as central command, he surveyed it quickly. They hadn't even attempted to board up the door to the throne room, just gave it a wide berth. The ceiling in the room was threatening collapse and no one was prepared to risk shifting any of the fallen stone and mortar to clear the entrance sufficiently to block it. So the pile of rubble directly across the huge reception area stood as a mute reminder of how efficient their present opposition was. They had been down to a mere quarter of their original number before this latest attack. God only knew how many men they had left now. Spotting the Captain off to his left, the Commander swerved toward him, pushing his way though the throngs of agitated civilians. Stopping in front of the man, he sketched a barely civil bow and said stiffly, "Our adversaries have gained entry to the palace."

"No!" the Captain shouted angrily. "I told them they were not to permit it."

The Commander shrugged. "As I have said before, our opposition has superior weaponry, a larger fighting force, and a hunger for revenge."

"They are nothing but rabble!"

"Once, perhaps. But no longer. Their leader is wily and uses her resources well."

"And they are coming _here_," a new voice added. The Commander looked down at the bundle of white that lay huddled on the floor against the wall. Slowly the head rose and Neela Singh stared at them. Even through the bruises, the spark of defiance was still visible. "They will not stop."

"We are well entrenched," the Captain sneered. "We will pick them off easily."

"Perhaps," the woman replied. "But how long can you continue to do so?" Her smile was unnervingly serene considering her circumstances. "We are patient. It is a skill we learned at the hands of men more depraved than you. And they will just keep coming. Wave after wave after wave . . . until you have no more ammunition, no more weapons, and no more men. And in the end, you will lose. It is only a matter of time now."

The Captain snarled in impotent fury, aiming a vicious kick at the woman, but the Commander neatly deflected it. "It serves no purpose to attack her for doing nothing but telling the truth. I would suggest that preserving her as uninjured as possible may be a point in your favor when you must negotiate with her son and daughter-in-law about terms for surrender."

"We cannot surrender," Birla snapped. "I will not. This country is mine!"

Neela's soft laughter mocked him. "I remember Deepak saying much the same thing right before his own son threw him from the top of the palace walls."

"Do something!" Birla shouted at the Captain. "Do something or we will all die here!"

The Captain whirled and faced Garrett Blackman belligerently. "We need those weapons! **NOW!**"

Garrett spread his hands and shrugged eloquently. "We are pinned in here, too. How are we supposed to get them here?"

"At least order your men to the front lines to fight!" the Captain demanded. "That way, if they have a chance to get clear, they can bring the weapons back and hit our attackers from behind."

Garrett's expression turned hard and cold. "My people do not fight your battles for you," he snapped. "I have every intention of getting out of here, and remaining neutral is our only chance of doing that."

"Do you honestly believe they will consider you neutral when we tell them you were here to sell us weapons?"

"As I told you before, Captain, I have no need to sell to you. I can just as easily sell to them. And if the woman leading the opposition is honorable, as the Commander claims, then she will not attack a neutral party."

The Captain snatched up a gun and aimed it at Garrett's head. "Then I will kill you myself."

Garrett eyed him coolly without a trace of fear, while behind him, everyone in the room could hear the sounds of safeties coming off as the men who had accompanied him brought weapons to bear on the Captain. "No, you won't. Because you know that if you harm me, you won't last another 30 seconds. Believe me, my men are much more ready to die than you are. Furthermore, I am a businessman and you know it. If you can find a way to pay me and get me out of here, you know I will complete our transaction as agreed. And as long as a chance exists for this to happen, I am safe enough."

Tension gripped the room as the two men faced either other defiantly. Suddenly, a thoughtful expression flickered across the Captain's face and something kindled deep in his eyes. Privately, Garrett shuddered at the look there. It didn't bode well for someone. Slowly, the Captain lowered the gun.

"How much do you value your loyal adherents, Excellency," he said in a quiet tone.

"What?" Birla asked, startled. The Captain nodded toward the roiling throng that hovered like frightened cattle at the far side of the room. Following his gaze, the would-be Sultan shrugged. "They can be replaced."

A smile twisted the Captain's features. "And the Commander tells us that our adversaries are honorable. Excellent."

Belatedly, the Commander realized what his leader had in mind. "No!" he said explosively. "They are non-combatants. You cannot -"

"I can do whatever it takes to get us out of this mess," the Captain replied sharply. Walking swiftly across the room, he randomly grabbed one of the men from the outer edge of the crowd and drew him away, saying, "Come with me. I have a job for you." The man blinked at him, but followed willingly enough.

"Wait!" an older man called from the center of the crowd. "Where are you taking -" A gesture to the guards caused them to converge on the protestor, and no further questions were offered.

"No!" the Commander muttered frantically. "This is not right!"

"What -" Garrett began, grabbing the Commander's arm, but the man pulled away and ran after the other two, who had just disappeared into the corridor.

With a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach, Garrett gestured to Paul and the two of them followed hastily.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Hadji was gone before anyone else had the chance to say a word or move to stop him. Calling for Kefira frantically, he cast a hasty glance around the remnants of the once-beautiful courtyard and kept right on going as he confirmed that she was nowhere in sight. By the time he reached the shattered main gate, he could hear both Jonny and Jessie screaming at him to stop, but he ignored them, intent only on finding Kefira before she did something he would never be able to live with. _Please,_ he begged silently to whatever higher power might be listening, _please do not let her do this thing. I understand now. I will do anything. Please let me find her . . ._

He broke into the open screaming her name at the top of his lungs. As if from a great distance, he could hear the keening cries of grief for the dead mixed with the sound of pain and fear. But he didn't care. He slowed his headlong rush slightly, searching every face for some sign of her, but she was nowhere to be seen. She had slipped away from him somehow, and a voice inside his head whispered that he would never see her alive again. With that realization, something inside of him died.

The first shot rang off of a pile of stone about three feet to his left, causing him to stumble to a halt. He frowned at the blaze in the stone uncomprehendingly as two more shots thudded into the ground nearby. He turned his head and looked up to see a group of Janissary soldiers on the upper wall at the far end of the palace. He was obviously on the extreme edge of their range, but they seemed determined to keep trying until they hit him. Behind him, a sudden barrage of return fire marked Jonny and Jessie's entrance into the fray. Both of them were screaming at him to get down, but he ignored them. Without taking his eyes off of the men on the high wall, he turned to face them squarely, spread his arms palms up, as if inviting them to shoot him, and walked toward them. Two more bullets whistled by, one singing past his ear and the other skimming the top of his left shoulder where it left a furrow and a growing stain of red.

_**"What is wrong with you?"**_ he screamed at them in sudden fury as he increased his pace. "You are supposed to be good. I will not try to stop you. Just shoot me and get it done!" He could see one of them taking careful aim while his teammates provided cover fire, and he came to a stop and closed his eyes, waiting for it. His mind registered the sound of the shot just as something struck him full force in the side, knocking him to the ground. He fought blindly as hands grabbed his arm and dragged him into a nearby screen of trees. I>"No!" he sobbed wildly. "Let me go. I order you. This is what I want!"

Arms wrapped around him from behind, preventing him from crawling back out into the open. **"NO!** I will not allow you to do this. It is _wrong_."

At the sound of the voice, he went still. After a stunned moment, he twisted around and stared at the speaker. Tear tracks stained her grimy cheeks and more brimmed in her eyes, but Kefira stared back at him with fierce determination.

"These people need you. If I must live with this dishonor to keep you alive, then I will do so. I will disassociate myself with my remaining family and I will go on, no matter what the cost to me. But I will not see you willingly allow yourself to be killed out of guilt because you finally came to realize that you had made a mistake in your choice of wife. My life is not worth it."

"Kefira," he whispered and lifted a shaking hand to the side of her face. Then, with a wordless cry, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into his arms, not caring that he was crying, or that the world around him was in shambles and other people were dying. In that instant, he only cared that she was still alive and that someone had given him a second chance. Rocking slightly, he clutched her in a vice-like grip, speaking brokenly to her. The words were muddled, sentences fragmented to nonsense, but after a time she came to understand what he was trying to say. Her arms closed around him and then words were beyond both of them. Only touch and tears remained as the sounds of war continued all around them.

Jonny and Jessie's arrival finally brought them both back to reality. The two young people erupted into the grove of trees under a hail of gunfire. Holding her gun in one hand, Jessie thumbed off the full auto safety and released a long burst of fire toward the entrenched Janissary guards.

"Son of a bitch," she swore, "we have **got** to get those guys down from there!" Breathing heavily, she snapped the ammunition clip out of her gun and peered at it. Tossing the empty magazine away in disgust, she dropped the gun and then moved to the back of the grove of trees and eased forward to peer out away from the palace and into the city. Putting her fingers to her lips, she whistled three piping notes sharply. The same call came back to her almost immediately. "Stay here!" she snapped and then burst out of the trees, sprinting away from the palace as fast as she could go.

"Jessie!" Jonny screamed as bullets chased her across the open ground. Spinning, he threw himself to the ground and returned fire, trying desperately to give his girlfriend some cover. "If anything happens to her, I swear I will never forgive you, you self-centered moron," he snarled at his brother. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Are you a complete _idiot_?"

"I had to find Kefira," Hadji tried to defend himself weakly, still clutching her tightly.

"Well, you wouldn't have had to go looking for her if you hadn't been so determined to play the goddamned _martyr_. I'm sick to death of you wallowing in self-pity because you were born to be a Sultan and don't want the job. _**Grow up!**_ If you don't want to be a Sultan, then _chuck it_ and do what you want to do. Or make peace with it and find a way to learn to like it. But stop making everyone around you miserable or getting them killed because you're riding the fence."

"Jonny -" Hadji said, trying to interrupt, but Jonny was on a roll now and wouldn't be stilled. Letting loose another round of gunfire, he continued.

"And for God's sake, quit trying to make personal decisions for other people! Kefira's said she loves you and wants to be with you so many times, it's almost more maudlin than Jess and I. Geezus, you told me once that you didn't think you could live through the misery that we went through trying to get our relationship onto an even keel, but you're ten times worse than we ever dared to be. At least I never deliberately walked into a firefight asking to be _**shot!**_"

"That is not fair!" Hadji came back hotly, starting to lose his temper.

"The hell it isn't!"

A familiar, high-pitched whine suddenly interrupted the escalating argument and all three young people looked up just in time to see a missile streak by and strike the upper corner of the palace. The explosion sent all three of them flat to the ground as dirt and fine shards of stone rained down on their grove of trees. About five feet away a large boulder thudded to the ground and rolled to a stop against one of the nearby trees. As the sound of the explosion faded away, silence fell on the area once more. Raising his head, Jonny looked around cautiously. Nothing stirred for a long moment. Then slowly, heads began appearing at the palace gate and Jonny heard Vijay Patel call out questioningly.

"We're okay," he called back. "Make sure everything is secure. We'll be right there." Surging to his feet, he moved out into the open cautiously. "Jess?" he called loudly.

"Right here," came her reassuring call and he turned to find her trotting up to him. Slinging the gun across his back, the grabbed her and hugged her fiercely, causing her to drop the missile launcher. "You okay?"

"Fine," she replied. "Not a scratch." She leaned back and reached up to run a gentle finger down one cheek. "Can't say the same for you, though. How did that happen?"

He reached up and touched the long scratch that ran from his jawbone to temple. It stung fiercely now that she called his attention to it, and was still bleeding. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Stone chips from a near-miss probably. It's not a big thing."

"Maybe, but we'll clean it up as soon as we get inside. Can't have it tarnishing those good looks, now can we?" She squinted at him. "Still can't get used to the hair. We're gonna have to do something about that."

He grinned at her. "As soon as we get home."

"Deal." She glanced over at the trees. "How's Hadji and Kefira?"

Jonny's mouth tightened. "Oh, they're just dandy," he said shortly.

Jessie sighed. "Jonny, don't be angry with him. He simply didn't understand the situation he was putting her in."

Releasing her, he shook his head. "That's not the point, Jess. He claims he hates being a Sultan, but he's developing a real talent for trying to make arbitrary decisions for other people. This business just now never would have happened if he hadn't decided that Kefira didn't know her own mind well enough to make a reasoned decision about her future."

"But you know he's afraid she's only doing it because it's what's expected of her."

"I don't care. He should know her well enough by now to know that she wouldn't tell him she wanted to be his wife if it wasn't true."

"Yes, but she was fully prepared to walk out of that palace and let herself be killed to satisfy honor," Jessie pointed out.

"She never would have gone through with it."

"Then you don't know her as well as you claim you do."

For the first time, Jonny looked shaken. "She would? I thought that was just an empty threat."

Jessie shook her head. "It was no threat. You think Hadji has trouble walking that fine line between cultures? Imagine what's it like for Kefira. She's balanced on a knife's edge. Hadji can shrug off the laws he doesn't like and no one will do a thing to him. But the same can't be said for her. Yes, she would have done it. She may not have put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger, but she would have found some way of seeing that honor was satisfied."

"Man, this place is screwed up!"

"More screwed up than I can ever hope to fix," a quiet voice replied from behind them. Jonny and Jessie turned to see Hadji and Kefira walking toward them. He held her tightly against his left side and his expression was grave.

Jonny took a deep breath. "Hey, Hadj . . . about what I said . . ."

"You were right. I need to make a choice . . . one that I can live with. I thought I could do this, at least for a time, but I cannot."

Jonny sighed wearily and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Look, man, I understand how you feel. And I'll stand by what I said at least this far. You _do_ need to make up your mind what you honestly want and then do something about it. But you need to do it when you're calm and rested, not right after you've had the holy living hell scared out of you."

"It will not make any difference," Hadji started to say, but Jonny shook his head, cutting him off.

"Maybe not, but you're the one who told me once that the wisdom of infinity comes from the clarity of a single instant, but that it's hard to know which instant to pay particular attention to."

Hadji looked at him incredulously. "I did not!"

Jonny grinned as the four of them turned back toward the palace. "Sure you did."

"I do not even know what that means!"

"Well, neither do I, so we're even." Reaching into his pocket he pulled something out of it and held it out to Kefira as the four of them walked through the shattered gate and entered the courtyard. "Put those back on where they belong," he told her, dropping the ruby pendant and wedding band into her hesitantly outstretched hand. "And the next time he pulls something like this, don't walk away . . . just kick his butt. Not only is it what he needs, he deserves it, too!"

"It will never happen again," Hadji said quietly, tightening his arm around her protectively.

Kefira took his free hand, turned it up, and dropped the two items into his palm. "Hadji, do not do something you -"

"Do not start. As Jonny has pointed out to me already, I am enough of a martyr for both of us. I need for you to be the voice of reason." Clutching the pendant and the ring in one fist, he lengthened his stride and led her across the threshold and into the palace a few steps ahead of his brother. A crowd of about fifty men met them. All of them appeared nervous and the low murmur of voices increased when they saw Kefira and Hadji together once more. Holding up a hand for silence, Hadji said evenly, "Hear me. I have been a fool. In a misguided attempt to protect her from harm, I attempted to send this woman away. It was never my intention to imply that I was dissatisfied with her in any way. She is my wife . . . the only one I want or will ever take." Releasing Kefira so he could turn to face her, he took one of her hands in his and said simply, "I am sorry, Kefira. I was wrong. I know now that I would sooner die than face another day without you at my side." Taking the necklace, he slid the chain over her head and eased the ruby pendant down until it lay between her breasts. Then he took the wedding band and slipped it back onto her left hand. Looking her in the eyes imploringly, he asked, "Can you possibly forgive me?"

She smiled at him tenderly and then reached up to brush a wayward lock of hair out of his eyes. "You only sought to keep me safe. What is there to forgive in that?" Then the corners of her mouth quirked up and she gave him a lovingly stern look. "Just as long as it never happens again."

"_**Never**_ again!" he said fervently and then pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

The crowd began to cheer and after a moment, Jonny smacked Hadji on the back with a grin. "Hey, you can do that later! Right now, we need to find Birla and put an end to this business. I have a job to get back to, remember?" Turning to Vijay, he said, "Mr. Patel, what is our situation?"

"It appears that the last of our opposition has withdrawn into the throne room area. They have barricaded themselves into this area and have closed off all access to the area with the exception of a single corridor."

"The main parade entrance, I suppose," Hadji said in disgust.

Vijay nodded. "Yes. They closed the large wooden doors into the hall and the matching set at the end of the corridor. They hold both sets of doors and have gunmen positioned to shoot down anyone who gets through the first set of doors and into the corridor."

"Any cover at all along there?" Jessie asked.

Hadji shook his head. "No. What few niches there are along the hallway are small and have pedestals and statuary in them."

"Damn," Jessie muttered, then sighed. "I really don't want to use grenades -"

"We can't," Jonny replied. "Birla's got women and children in there with him. We use missiles or grenades and we're likely to kill all of them."

Jessie and Kefira exchanged a look and then Kefira took a deep breath. "That is not all they have." She looked up at Hadji painfully. "I am sorry, beloved, but we believe they have the Lady Neela, as well."

"How the hell did that happen?" Jonny demanded.

"We think we had a spy in the ranks," Jessie replied. "Picked him up after we got into Bangalore City. He represented himself as one of Mr. Patel's men and we had no reason to doubt him. She disappeared during the trip here from the warehouse Hemant showed us and he was the last one seen with her."

"Do you know who the man was that took her?" Hadji demanded.

"Simul Naik," Vijay replied heavily.

"Whose family is loyal to Mr. Birla," Hadji finished grimly. Vijay just nodded.

"That's just -"

"Excellency!" Everyone spun at the call as a breathless man appeared from around a corner. He slid to a stop in front of Hadji and bowed awkwardly as he gasped, "A man . . . one of _them_ . . . he calls for you. A truce to talk, he says."

"Who is this man?"

"He claims to be the leader of the Janissaries."

The four of them exchanged startled looks and then Hadji demanded, "Where is he?"

"At the doors that lead into the processional way, Excellency. He has not come out into the open - only demanded to see you from the partially open doorway."

"I don't like this!" Jonny exclaimed.

"What's the terrain, Hadji?" Jessie demanded grimly.

"The throne room complex sits almost exactly in the center of the palace. It consists of the audience chamber itself, which we destroyed a few days ago, a large rectangular room that serves as a waiting area and reception hall for formal functions, and a long, broad corridor that leads to the reception area." 

"That's the processional way?"

"Yes. It can be closed off at either end by heavy, reinforced wooden doors that are designed to be barricaded shut if the need arises."

"Any other way out?"

"Not anymore," Jonny replied in disgust. "Thanks to me and my bright ideas."

"Do not blame yourself, Jonny," Hadji told him. "It was a good idea and necessary at the time. If you had not blown up the throne room, we would never have gotten everyone out past the gate guards."

Jessie grinned at Jonny. "You blew up the throne room? Sweet. That must have rattled Birla's cage."

"That was the idea."

"So what about access to processional way?" Jessie prompted, all business again.

"There are about six corridors that come together in an open oval area. The doors leading to the throne room complex are on one long wall and the other six halls open into it. There are tapestries and divans along the walls, but not much else."

Jessie closed her eyes briefly, building the image in her mind. Then she looked at Hadji again. "Okay. And where are we from there?"

"The corridors start at the narrow ends of the oval and are evenly spaced. That hallway over there leads directly into the oval and is the third opening from the left of the throne room doors as you face them."

"So it opens as close to directly across from the doors as you can get?"

"Yes." Then she turned to the man who had brought the news. "And you and the men with you?"

"We were set the task of guarding the door, Lady, so no additional Janissaries could leave there and come at us from behind. The corridors leading to the doorway are not straight so they afford some safety. We have also brought in some heavier pieces of furniture to use as cover and they are placed a short way out into the open area opposite the door. There are about twenty of us spread across the three corridors and behind the area of safety we created."

She nodded approvingly. "Good job. Okay, here's what we're gonna do. Hadji, you and Kefira will stay here. Jonny, I want you with me."

"You cannot -" Hadji started to protest.

"Listen to me!" she said sharply. "This has setup written all over it and we can't afford to risk either one of you. That's the reason that when Kefira and I decided to come here, she told me I was to take over and lead the fight against your enemies. And that's exactly what I've done. But just because we've gotten into the palace doesn't mean we're done. We're still in the middle of that fight. Unless you're planning to change that arrangement, this is situation to deal with."

Kefira laid a hand on his arm. "Do as she says, husband. She knows and understand our enemy, and our people follow her without hesitation."

"But he has called for me. I cannot ask for anyone else to risk -"

"There he goes again," Jonny said. "Hadji, just shut up and stay put. Let us deal with this guy. Where do you want me, Jess?"

"With the men behind the cover. I want you at my back."

"And you?"

Jessie smiled grimly. "I'm going to have a pleasant little chat with our friend, the Janissary captain."

With another admonition to Hadji and his wife to remain where they were, Jonny and Jessie followed the guardsman down the long corridor. When they neared the end of it, they slowed, and Jonny reached back to Jessie. Placing his hand on her stomach, he pressed her gently against the wall and then pivoted on one foot and, using his body, he pinned her there. He leaned over and whispered softly in her ear, "Wait here until I'm in place. I don't want you confronting him until I'm in a position to have him in my sights."

She nodded economically, but when he would have moved away, she stopped him. Catching him by the nape of the neck, she pulled his head down and fastened her mouth on his, her tongue teasing his lips, asking for entrance. Without hesitation, his lips parted and as their tongues intertwined, Jonny wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against him tightly. His hands roamed up and down her body, caressing her as if starved for the contact. For a long moment, the world around them receded and all that existed was the electric contact of their bodies and the heady taste of their mouths. When he finally released her and stepped back, Jessie could sense how much effort it took. Her hands clutched at him, not wanting to break the contact, but finally let him go reluctantly. With a feather-light caress on her cheek, he breathed, "Take care." And then he was gone.

Jessie leaned against the wall, her eyes closed and her body aching slightly, the feel of his hands lingering in her memory. _I love him so much,_ she thought. _Please God, don't let anything take him away._

"Lady . . ." the guardsman said softly, resting a hesitant hand on her arm. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked at the man. "Your Lord is in place. If you wish to . . ."

He trailed off respectfully as she sighed deeply and then nodded. She waved at him to take his place with the other men and then, squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward boldly and called, "Janissary!"

The silence stretched for a long moment. Finally, the door cracked slightly and a voice called out sharply, "What is it you want, woman?"

"I am told that the leader of the Janissary troops wishes to speak with a member of the Sultan's forces. So speak."

"I am hardly likely to speak with some lackey. Particularly a woman! I called for the Sultan. Or is he too much of a coward to face me?"

Jessie laughed derisively. "Coward? A strange choice of word from a man who hides behind the lines and orders his men to slaughter indiscriminately without thought for their honor. No, Janissary. You will not see the Sultan, nor his wife. A man with no honor cannot be trusted. If you wish to negotiate, your only choice is to deal with the leader of the Sultan's armies . . . and that is me. So say whatever it is you wish us to hear or go back to hiding in your hole. The choice is yours."

The man's rage was almost palpable as he snarled, "I should kill you where you stand."

"You could try, but I doubt you would have much success. So what is it that you want?"

Through the barely cracked door, Jessie could hear the sounds of agitated conversation. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone indicated that someone on the other side was upset. Jessie waited for what seemed like an eternity, but still there was no reply. Finally, she shrugged. As she turned away, the guardsman who had led them here appeared at her elbow. Nonchalantly, in a voice designed to carry, she said, "Your men are to remain here. I will send reinforcements. This door is to remain sealed and nothing or no one is to be allowed in or out. Is that understood?"

"What of food or supplies?"

Glancing back over her shoulder, she shook her head. "Nothing," she replied flatly.

The man bowed respectfully. "As you command, Lady."

A sudden commotion caused her to drop into a crouch and spin back toward the door, her weapon snapping up defensively. The door opened suddenly, and in a motion almost too quick to follow, something was shoved out into the anteroom. Jessie caught a fleeting glimpse of several faces framed in the doorway before it was yanked closed once more. Before it clicked shut, the Janissary Captain called out again.

"Consider this, woman, and know that I've got at least 150 more where that came from, including some that are of even greater value to the Sultan than this one! I give you one hour. At the end of that time, the Sultan and his whore will turn themselves over to me, or you will get more of the same." Then the door slammed and she could hear the locking bar drop into place.

Jonny moved past her swiftly, dropping down beside the slumped form in the middle of the floor. Turning the body over gently, he flinched at what he saw. The man had been savagely knifed, the blade inserted deeply into his belly and drawn viciously up until the blade struck the breastbone. Organs protruded through the gaping hole and there was blood everywhere. But the victim was well past caring. Jonny removed his fingers from the man's neck and looked up at Jessie, shaking his head. "He didn't have a chance," he told her grimly.

She closed her eyes against the sight for a long moment, fighting to control a strong urge to vomit. Finally, sighed and gestured to the men who had risen to stand silently behind her. "Find a litter and something to wrap him in. Does anyone know him?"

Low murmurs moved through them, and finally the lead guardsman shook his head. "No, Lady. Several have seen him before, but do not know his name."

She nodded wearily as several men approached with a jury-rigged stretcher. Carefully, they laid a heavy pad of cloth across his belly, wrapped him in a long white sheet, and then laid him on the litter. When they were finished, Jessie gestured back the way they had come. "We will return to the Sultan and Sultana. They will wish to see him and attempt to locate his family." Pointing to two men, she gestured to the litter. "You will come with me. The rest of you remain here. No one goes in or out, no matter what happens. Is that clear?" Everyone nodded. Motioning to the two men, she said, "Let's go."

Hadji and Kefira were waiting anxiously when they returned. Both were struck by the expression on Jessie's face when she reappeared in the corridor, and Kefira ran to her immediately. "What has happened, Sister? What did he want?"

"To prove a point and demand your surrender," she replied heavily and then gestured to the others behind her. "Do you know him?"

Kefira moved to the stretcher and her breath caught sharply when she looked down at the body. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely. "Yes, I know him . . ."

Hadji came to her quickly and put an arm around her shoulders protectively. "Who is he?" he asked her, not recognizing him.

Slowly, she raised haunted eyes to him. "Subir Rafiq . . . the man I was once destined to marry."

"Your sister's husband," Hadji breathed softly.

"Oh hell . . ." Jonny said softly, and Jessie hung her head and sighed again.

Hadji gathered Kefira into his arms, holding her tightly against him and pressing her head into his shoulder. "I am so sorry, Kefira," he whispered remorsefully. "Things never should have come to this."

Finally, she stirred in his arms, and looked up at him, unshed tears glistening on her eyelashes. Stroking his cheek gently, she shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, beloved. None of this was your doing."

"We will get Daria out of there," he promised her.

"No," Kefira replied, freeing herself from his grasp. "Not at the expense of doing what is right. The Rafiq's chose their side, as we all did, and now they must live with their decision."

"But your sister -"

"Is a Rafiq." She raised her eyes to look at him seriously. "Do not doubt that, husband. Daria knows where her loyalties lie, as do I. We make no special accommodations for her simply because we share blood."

"But -"

Shaking her head, Kefira turned back to Jessie. "What do we do now, sister?"

Jessie had been silent during the exchange between Hadji and Kefira, seemingly lost in another world. When she didn't immediately answer, Kefira became concerned. Reaching out, she laid a hand on Jessie's arm, shaking it slightly. "Jessie? What is wrong?"

"Hmmm? What? I'm sorry . . . I wasn't listening. What did you say?"

"I asked you what was wrong. You look disturbed."

"Disturbed? No . . . no. Just thinking."

"About what?" Kefira insisted.

"Something I saw." She looked over at Jonny. "Could you see anyone behind that door?"

Jonny shook his head. "No. I wasn't close enough. Heard voices, but I couldn't tell what they were saying."

Jessie glanced over at Kefira again. "The field commander was there. I saw him clearly."

"So he did made it back here," Kefira replied thoughtfully.

"Yes, and he wasn't a happy man." She waved at the body of Subir. "This isn't an action he would approve of."

"Do you believe he will do something to prevent it from happening again?"

"Hard to say."

"What are the two of you talking about?" Jonny asked.

"We've run into one of the men in there before. I don't think we can trust him to be an ally, but he could be a wild card." She let her eyes move from one of them to the other before she added slowly, "I caught a glimpse of two other men, too . . ."

"Who did you see?" Hadji demanded.

"Paul Descarte was one of them . . ."

"Who?"

"You knew him as Jean-Paul Bussac."

"Bussac! What the hell is he -" Sudden fear stripped Jonny's voice away at the look Jessie gave him then.

Heavily, she added, ". . . and the other was Garrett Blackman."

Jonny exchanged a startled look with his brother. Then he turned to Jessie and began in bewilderment, "Mr. Blackman? What would he be doing -" Again, her expression stopped him in mid-sentence and, for a moment, the two stared at each other in silence, as Kefira looked away, biting her lip. Finally, Jonny forced himself to say, "Just tell us, Jess. What is it?"

Tears shimmered in her eyes as Kefira reached out and caught hold of Hadji's arm in a comforting grip. "The last time I talked to Garrett Blackman was a couple of days ago," she told him as steadily as she could. "He was at the Compound in Maine."

Jonny stiffened. "Why?"

"It's your dad." She looked from one young man to the other. "He's sick . . . very sick. Mr. Blackman said that he's dying."

"No," Hadji denied in an agonized whisper, as Kefira slipped an arm around him.

It took Jonny three tries before he could get his voice to work at all. "Did you talk to Dr. Mason? Did she say what was wrong?"

Jessie shook her head. "No." She closed her eyes wearily. "Dr. Quest isn't the only one that's ill. My mom's developed complications. The day I called, I had just missed Dad . . . she had collapsed and Dad and Dr. Mason had to rush her to Portland to a specialist. Mr. Blackman and Stan Knight were at the Compound keeping an eye on Dr. Quest."

"How did they -" He stopped and scrubbed at his face as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion that lay over him now like a blanket. "Oh hell, it doesn't matter how they got there or why. Did they know what was wrong?"

"I didn't talk to Stan, but Mr. Blackman didn't have a lot of detail. All he said was that they had finally identified the cause of the weakness and memory loss Dr. Quest had been suffering."

"I didn't even know he'd been suffering from memory loss," Jonny said painfully. "Why didn't they tell us?" He turned away and moved unsteadily to a nearby divan where he sank down and rested his head in his hands. "How could this happen???"

Shrugging free from Kefira, Hadji crossed to sit next to Jonny on the divan. "This is not your fault," he assured him. "You must not blame yourself."

Jonny shook his head as thought denying his brother's statement. Then he asked in a low voice, "You said they figured out what was causing it?"

"Mr. Blackman said it was related to that business in England about five years ago."

"What business in England?" Hadji demanded. "I do not remember -"

"Smallwood." The bitterness in that single word seemed to echo in the silence. The room was full of people, and yet the four of them might just as well have been alone. With profound weariness, he finally added, "Smallwood and his goddamned mind-control chip that was supposed to make the world so much better. It never even occurred to me that the chip could have anything to do with it."

Jessie cleared her throat with difficulty. "I didn't get a lot of it, probably because Mr. Blackman didn't understand it very well either. He said that Dr. Quest was working to figure out how the chip worked so that he could try to reverse the effects, but his memory was quickly being destroyed and they didn't know how much longer he could continue." She swallowed hard. "He said that Dad told him that they needed us back at the Compound right away to assist with the research."

"How long ago was this?" Jonny asked with unnatural quiet.

Jessie waved her hand vaguely. "Two days? Three? I don't know anymore . . . maybe even four. Everything's started to run together and I can't . . ." She stopped for a minute, too choked up to continue, and then in a rush, she dropped to her knees in front of him, and, laying a hand on his leg, she said, "Jonny, I'm _sorry_. We tried to hurry -"

Reaching out, Jonny caught her shoulders and pulled her up into his lap, pressing her face into his shoulder and burying his face in her hair. "It's okay, Jess. It's not your fault." He looked at his brother over her bowed head. Grief etched deep lines between Hadji's eyes and his mouth was rigid with pain.

"I cannot leave," he said raggedly. "Not with things as they are here."

"I know," Jonny replied.

"You must go . . . quickly. Perhaps is it not too late -"

"And do what?" Jonny demanded bitterly. "Stand helplessly at his bedside and watch him die? Hadji, we're talking hard-core theoretical research here. You know me. I'm clueless with that kind of stuff. I'd be worse than useless."

"But we must do something!"

"Yes, we must," Kefira replied. Her tone caused all of them to stare at her in astonishment. It was glacial and her expression set. "There has been too much suffering and too many lives lost. It stops _**now**_." Turning from the others, she pointed at one of her guardsman and snapped, "Bring me the crates from the main transport vehicle. All of them." Turning to a second man, she gestured back up the corridor, "Tell the men guarding the doors that they are to be ready to pull back. Those men who have established cover in the open area in front of the doors are to move back and take their blockades with them. I want that antechamber cleared."

Hadji started to rise from the divan, a half-formed protest forming, but she waved him to silence. "You are to remain here, husband. Jessie was right. We have led this fight from the start and it is now time that we finish it. Sister, I need you with me."

Jessie rose immediately, pressing on Jonny's shoulder to keep him in place when he would have risen with her. "You stay here with Hadji and make sure he stays put. We'll be back." Then she turned a significant look on Vijay Patel. "See they follow those orders, Mr. Patel. I don't care if you have to restrain both of them bodily." Then she spun on her heel and the two women disappeared down the corridor toward the throne room.

Once out of earshot of Jonny and Hadji, Kefira said, "We must get them to Dr. Quest, Jessie. He has no chance if we do not. Too many good people have died already because of Arun Birla and I will not see Dr. Quest be another of his casualties." She shot a lightning-quick glance at the other woman. "We are both thinking the same thing, I think. Mr. Blackman is here looking for Jonny, knowing he will find Hadji with him, to take them home to Maine."

"That's my bet. No word about what is going on over here has been getting out of Bangalore, and things were getting so desperate back home, that _someone_ made the decision to come looking for us. Any other time, it would have been my Dad, but with Dr. Quest and my Mom both sick . . ."

"Yes. So he sent Paul and Mr. Blackman instead."

Jessie shook her head. "Paul maybe. He used to be with I-1, but I don't see Dad asking Mr. Blackman to take that kind of risk. My bet is that Dad doesn't know anything about this . . . that it's Paul's doing. Mr. Blackman probably volunteered, and Paul helped him set up and execute a cover story."

"Yes. But even if we could get them out of there, as long as Mr. Birla and the Janissaries are in a position to cause trouble, Hadji will not leave, and Jonny will not go without him. So we must do something to change that situation."

"What do you have in mind?" 

"I have had enough," Kefira replied grimly. "The Janissary Captain has issued an ultimatum. Since that is the way he chooses to try to end this confrontation, that is the way it _will_ end. What sort of explosives do we have?"

Jessie blinked. "You're going to try and blast them out? Kefira, you'll kill everyone in there!"

"That is possible. But Jessie, you are thinking just like Hadji, and I keep telling you that this is a much different culture. It is entirely possible that the people standing with Birla now are having second thoughts, and if they are, it is very unfortunate. But the simple fact is that they chose their side. Now they must take the consequences."

"But -"

"There is no 'but' . . . not any longer. By the time these people moved to the palace, the tide in this war had begun to shift. In all likelihood, that is the very reason they came here. They made a conscious decision to stand against their rightful ruler and back his usurper. And before you try to argue the point that the men's wives and children did not have a choice in the matter, let me say again that no matter how much you abhor the situation, right now that is the way the system works. Some men allow their wives to influence them and some do not, but regardless of which is the case, everyone who stands in that room now chose to back Mr. Birla. As much as I might wish to be compassionate, it is no longer my place to be concerned with their welfare . . . at least, not to chose their well-being over that of the people who have stood loyal to my husband. So I am going to give the Janissaries a choice . . . they surrender now, or I will use every weapon in my possession against them until there isn't a single one left standing." She stopped abruptly, then, and turned to face the other woman squarely. "The only question left to answer is whether or not you will stand beside me in this final fight."

The two stood staring at each other for a long time, each trying to gauge the other's resolve. Finally, Jessie nodded heavily. "I've come with you this far. I'm not about to back out now. But if you're serious about this, then we do it the right way."

"Which is?"

"We call in the troops to stand behind us, we announce our intentions to our adversary and make it crystal clear what we plan to do, and we give them time to respond. We also give them the chance to send out the non-combatants. Then, if they refuse, we hit them with everything we've got."

Kefira nodded immediately. "Agreed."

Jessie turned and gestured to Hemant who still dogged her heels faithfully. "Hemant, I want you to go back and find the leaders of the first four advance teams. Tell them that I need them here immediately with all of their men. Then locate the rest of the team leaders and tell them to form up their units and await my word." She eyed him with a touch of humor. "You may also tell them that we are preparing for the final assault on our enemies, however try to keep the details to a minimum, okay?"

Hemant bowed with an impudent grin. "As you command, my lady."

Jessie just shook her head. "Go!"

The two women then continued on until they reached the antechamber where they found the guards waiting for them. All of the men had pulled back, but the barricades that had been erected earlier were still in place. With a sharp command, Jessie set them to clearing the space while they awaited the arrival of the others Jessie had summoned. It took about 15 minutes to clear the chamber and about the time the last of the heavy furniture had been moved down the corridor, their reinforcements arrived. Jessie quickly outlined what she wanted them to do and then waved them to their places.

"They have been watching," Kefira told her quietly as the last of the men took up their places well out of sight up the corridors across from the main doors.

"I know. You have to expect that they're starting to get nervous by now."

"Wondering what we are doing."

"Yep. I don't think the Captain believes we will do anything other than surrender, but you can bet that the field commander knows differently."

"We can hope that he will be able to get them to listen."

"We'll hope." Jessie checked her watch. "It's fifteen minutes before the Captain's deadline is set to expire. Are you ready?"

Kefira took a deep breath and then nodded. "Let us finish this."

"Okay, wait here. And stay out of sight!"

Taking a firm grip on her gun, Jessie moved down the corridor and stepped out in full view of the door once more. "Janissary!" she called sharply.

For a long moment, there was no response. Then the door opened and a man stepped out into the antechamber to face her. He closed the door behind him and bowed respectfully. "Lady," he said in quiet acknowledgement.

"We meet again, Commander," she replied. She paused momentarily, allowing the silence to hang between them, and then she said, "I would speak with your Captain."

The man shook his head regretfully. "He will not, Lady. He says that he should be speaking with the Sultan himself, and will not lower himself to speak with a mere woman again."

Jessie's grinned at him. "Your Captain thinks a great deal of himself, doesn't he?"

The man tried to remain stern but simply couldn't suppress a responding smile. "Unfortunately, yes."

Then Jessie's smile faded. "The situation has become grave, Commander. Your Captain's honor is now so far gone that he kills his own allies. We both know that this cannot continue."

"They are not our allies, Lady, but rather the allies of our employer. He was the one who decided what their loyalty was worth."

"But surely that does not exempt you from the dishonor of what was done. The man your Captain killed was not a combatant. In fact, as the sole direct heir of one of the oldest families in this country, it is doubtful he would have been allowed to fight, even if he had wished to do so."

The man gestured helplessly. "I agree with you, Lady. It was ill done. But there is no way, now, to undo it."

Jessie sighed softly and shook her head. "I know."

The man hesitated and then, in a soft voice meant to carry only to her, he said, "The man . . . the one in your life . . . how does he come to allow you to be in such a place as this?" Anger warmed his tone slightly as he added, "One such as you should not have to face the horrors that have been wrought here."

"All of us have our part to play, Commander," she replied in the same quiet tone. "I am a warrior . . . born and bred. He does me the honor of recognizing my skills and allowing me to be what I am." That intense interest shone in his eyes again, and she could sense his desire to reach out to her.

"And yet you are tired. I can see it in your eyes."

She smiled at him sadly. "As are you. Too many miles, too many fights, too many horrors, and too many dead. I am heart-sick at the pointless death and grow weary of this war."

He nodded at her. "I, too. There is no honor in a conflict such as this."

She stepped forward abruptly and laid a hand on his arm, standing close and staring up into his eyes. "Then let us end it, Commander . . . now . . . before more blood is shed. There can be only one outcome. We both know this. The only question remaining is how many more must die before we reach that end."

For a long instant he stared down at her, his eyes clouded and sad. Finally, he reached up and cupped her cheek gently with calloused fingers as his thumb caressed her lips lightly. "You cannot know how much I would give for that decision to be mine to make, Lady."

Sorrow filled her eyes. "As do I, Commander," she said to him softly. For a split second, she turned her head slightly, leaning into that warm hand. Then she stepped back once more. In a clear, carrying tone, she said, "Since your Captain will not come forward to speak with me, I must ask you to bear word to him once more."

He inclined his head. "It would be my honor."

Jessie's lips twisted in a bitter smile and she shook her head slightly. Then, squaring her shoulders, she said, "Tell your Captain that his terms are unacceptable; that the rightful rulers of Bangalore do not bargain with dishonorable men who would use women and children as a shield to keep from paying the price for their actions. Tell him also that if he will not lay down his arms and come out, bringing the traitor Birla with him, we will come in and get them both."

Alarm flared in the Commander's face and he stepped forward urgently. "Lady, the Captain did not lie. There are many inside that are noncombatants. I assure you, he will not hesitate to kill all of them . . . including the Sultan's mother."

If he thought his final statement would cause her to pause, he was mistaken. Without hesitation, she nodded. "I understand. But he leaves us no choice. To accept his terms means the destruction of many more than the few you hold. And most that stand within now border on being traitors themselves. Are we to turn our backs on the loyal men and women of Bangalore in order to save a small few who betrayed the Sultan and their own country? Whatever dishonor may be attached to the destruction of the innocents you hold would be far outweighed by the dishonor of betraying those who were faithful." She shook her head again sadly. "No, Commander. The decision has been made. As I said earlier, the only question remaining is how many more will die before this is all over. This much we will grant you. With the exception of your Captain and Mr. Birla, any who are willing to come out now and beg mercy from the Sultan and his wife will be allowed through the lines and given a safe place to stay until judgment for their actions can be rendered. Those who choose to remain must accept the consequences. Tell your Captain that he has until his own deadline to decide. If we receive no answer from him by that time, we will attack and we will not stop until they are dead." Then, without waiting for him to acknowledge her words, she turned and walked away.

Jessie had no more than gotten out of the Commander's sight along the curving corridor when Kefira materialized in front of her. "So?"

She stopped and gestured helplessly. "You heard the conversation?" Kefira nodded. "He'll carry the message back. What the Captain will do is anyone's guess. All we can do now is wait."


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter Fifty-three**

  


"It is a trick!"

A thin sheen of sweat shone on the Captain's forehead as he paced restlessly in front of the field commander and Arun Birla.

"It is no trick and it is not a bluff. She will do exactly as she says if we do not comply with her orders."

The Captain spun, snarling like a caged tiger. "You said she would not risk the hostages!"

"I said no such thing," the Commander corrected disdainfully. "I said that she and her Sultana are honorable. There is much less dishonor in allowing those here to die than to betray the people loyal to the Sultan to one such as him." He gestured toward Birla, who glowered nearby.

"What are we to do?" Birla demanded, the first traces of panic beginning to fray the edges of his ego.

"Excellency . . ." a hesitant voice interrupted. The three men turned to find a lovely woman in a dark red sari standing a few feet away, and a much older man with slightly stooped shoulders and heavily graying hair hurrying toward them. The woman bowed and when she straightened, she kept her eyes lowered respectfully. "Excellency, Subir has not returned. I - I was wondering if you knew when he would be back . . ."

By this time, the old man had arrived and he caught the woman by the shoulders and tried to draw her away. "Come, Daria. I am certain he will return when his errand for the Captain is complete. You must not disturb them . . ."

"But Father, it is not like Subir to disappear in this way." She finally raised her eyes and looked at the Captain with a pleading expression. "I only wish to know when he will return."

With a churning in the pit of his stomach, the Commander opened his mouth to tell the woman of her husband's death. But before he could say anything, the Captain cut in smoothly.

"I am very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Lady, but your husband is dead. I sent him to carry a message to our enemies asking for a truce so that we could negotiate safe passage for those who do not fight, but by the Sultana's order he was savagely killed by the woman who leads her forces. He stood no chance."

Slowly, the Commander turned to stare at his Captain as the woman's grief-stricken cries filled the room. Outwardly, the man appeared solemn and sympathetic, but his eyes held a greedy, vindictive gleam, as though he was enjoying her pain. Movement over the Captain's shoulder caused his eyes to shift and his glance was caught and held by that of the powerful man who claimed to be here to sell weapons. His gaze was bleak and the Commander could sense rage simmering under the surface. The dark-haired woman who stood beside him had much the same expression, while their guards flanked them, their faces blank and cold and their weapons held ready.

"Take her away, Mr. Rafiq," Birla said with a peremptory wave. "We have no time for this." The older man stared at Birla fixedly for a long moment and then his gaze shifted to that of the Captain. After a long moment, his mouth tightened and he drew the grieving woman away.

"So now you would blame your actions on the Sultana and her forces," the Commander said thinly.

The Captain shrugged. "If you are correct and that woman will do as she claims, then our only hope for getting out of here is to use those people as a shield and attempt to slip by her forces in the confusion. If they believe the Sultana will kill them without mercy, then they will be more prepared to fight, giving us the needed opportunity. I want you to be certain that when the fighting starts, those people remain near the door to the corridor. They are to be the first thing our attackers face." Then he walked away, gesturing to several other guardsmen and beginning to dictate orders. Birla looked from one man to the other for a moment and then turned and followed the Captain.

The Commander stood motionless, his mind almost incapable of comprehending the order he had just been given. To put women and children in front of an oncoming army so that the fighting forces could be given a chance to run?

"Surely, you will not allow this to happen, Commander?" He turned to find Garrett Blackman standing at his right shoulder. "Will you allow him to slaughter innocent people in this fashion?"

"He _**lies**_," another voice added harshly from immediately behind. The Commander started violently and spun to discover the old man, Mr. Rafiq, standing there. The fury on the elderly countenance was plain. "The Sultan is many things, most of which I disapprove of, but he is not a monster. He would never have murdered my son for the simple act of carrying a message. Nor would the woman he now claims as his wife. Neither are capable of such an act. Perhaps the woman who leads their forces -"

"No," the Commander replied sharply, cutting the old man off. Then he sighed. "No, the Sultana's Sword is honorable. Imprison him for betraying his Sultan? Yes, this she would have done. But she would never have killed him. Not without immediate and just cause."

"Then is he truly dead?" the old man demanded.

When the Commander didn't answer, Garrett did it for him. "Yes."

"You were there," Rafiq said with conviction, his eyes boring into Garrett's. "I saw you follow them." When Garrett nodded, the old man demanded, "Who killed my son?"

Garrett glanced the Commander again and finally said softly, "The Captain."

"Did he do something to anger the man?"

"No. He was simply an example."

The old man's breath caught sharply in his throat and for a moment they all wondered if he would collapse where he stood. But after a long moment, he looked up at the Commander again. "And now? What does he plan now?"

"He plans to run," Jade replied bluntly from Garrett's side. "He plans to use you and your people as a shield against Jessie Bannon's forces and to use the chaos to escape."

The Commander turned on the two in a sudden flash of anger. "Who _are_ you?" he snarled. "You are no more weapons dealers than I am. Why are you here? What is it that you want?"

"Keep your voice down!" Garrett snapped in a low tone, casting a look over one shoulder toward the Captain and Birla who still stood talking with several of the other Janissary soldiers near the far wall.

"You called the Lady by name . . . just as the Sultana did. You know her." His hand moved toward his gun, but before he could complete the gesture, one appeared in Jade's fist. With it pointed directly as his gut, the Commander thought better of his actions and froze.

"Yes," Garrett said in a low voice. "I know her. Now, Commander, I am going to ask you again. Do you intend to stand by and allow this slaughter to occur?"

"What would you have me do?" the Commander replied sharply. "He is my commanding officer! And even if I wished to stop it, how do you propose I do that? Our numbers may be reduced, but there are still a good three dozen trained soldiers who follow him. Do you honestly believe I could best all of them?"

"None of them would follow you if you tried to put a stop to this?"

The Commander shrugged irritably. "If they were my own men, I could answer that question, but for most of these men, I only know what unit they serve with. I have no sense of where their loyalties lie."

"Even when they realize that the Captain intends to sacrifice them in the same fashion as he does the others so that he can escape?" The Commander blinked at Garrett uncomprehendingly. "Do you really believe that the Captain intends to take your remaining men with him? His plan will work only if a very few people are attempting to escape. Everyone else must be involved in fighting the incoming forces. If all of your men break and run, leaving only unarmed women, children and old men to provide cover, you will all be picked off. Let's face it, Commander, you are sacrificial lambs. The only one the Captain will attempt to take with him is Birla, and only because with him still alive the Captain has some hope of being paid. The rest of you are as expendable as Subir Rafiq."

But the Commander didn't appear to be listening. Instead, he was staring across the open floor at the crowd of civilians. Following his gaze, Garrett saw the woman who had approached to ask about her husband. She sat on a divan against the far wall and even from that distance, they could all hear her keening. Several other women surrounded her, attempting to offer comfort, but she was having none of it. The entire situation made Garrett feel slightly ill and judging by the Commander's face, it set even less well with him.

"Commander, if you will -"

Garrett never had the chance to finish that sentence. In that split second, an ear-shattering explosion rocked the building and dust billowed into the room from the processional way. Gunfire started even before the last of the debris settled back to the floor and screams filled the room as the crowd of people fled from the door in panic. The remaining Janissary soldiers surged forward, attempting to prevent their flight, but were quickly overwhelmed by the panicking crowd. Giving up, the men turned back to the door and began returning fire. Before long, a firestorm of gunfire was being exchanged.

Appearing at the Commander's elbow, the Captain screamed at him. "Get those people up there! We need them where the Sultan's forces can see them. Put the children at the front. If they want into this room, they're going to have to come through them!" The Commander spun to face the other man. For a long moment, they stared at each other.

"Did you hear me? Do it!"

For a heartbeat longer, the Commander stared at the man facing him. "No," he whispered hoarsely, the word inaudible over the din of the fighting. Then, in burst of anger, the Commander reached up and yanked the insignia from his uniform. "_**NO!!!**_ I will not be a party to this!" he snarled. "This is _wrong!_" And with that, the Commander leaped onto his Captain and the two of them went tumbling to the ground, pummeling each other violently.

Arun Birla took one look at the two men and spun, searching frantically for a way out of the trap he'd created. Spotting the Captain's gun, which he had dropped when the Commander attacked him, Birla dove for it. But he never reached it. Garrett Blackman tackled him from behind and the two men went down in a heap. Birla fought tigerishly, but years of luxurious living was quickly apparent as Garrett was able to stun him with a single right hook to the chin.

Meanwhile, Paul motioned to his men and they all moved to take cover around the room. Once safely in place, he gave the command and the men began firing on the Janissary soldiers, who were still attempting to hold the door, while Jade directed the panic-stricken people at the far end of the room into what cover she could find.

Over the next several minutes, chaos reigned as the Janissaries found themselves sandwiched between the Sultan's incoming forces and Paul's men. A few of the civilians, finally seeing the inevitable outcome of the conflict, found guns among the fallen and joined Paul's men in their attempts to break the resistance of the Janissaries. The fighting raged for over twenty minutes as the Janissaries took cover and then managed to lob several grenades into the corridor, forcing their attackers to retreat. But the end was never in doubt. The mercenaries were too few and the sight of their leader being attacked by one of their own caused them to realize they stood no chance. In the end, the few remaining fought only to stay alive.

With a final hailstorm of gunfire, members of the loyalist forces broke through into the room. At the forefront of that assault was Jessie Bannon. Her appearance marked the end. With a mighty effort, the Commander struck his opponent one last time, leaving him lying unconscious on the floor, and then rose unsteadily to his feet. In a loud, carrying voice, he called, _"JANISSARIES, CEASE FIRE!"_

And then it was quiet. People throughout the room stood motionless, as if not entirely certain what to do now. It was the Commander who broke the tableau. Stumbling forward four steps, he stopped facing Jessie some twenty feet away and bowed unsteadily. "Lady, the Janissaries surrender. You may name your terms."

"Tell your men to lay down their arms and come out into the center of the room, Commander. I want them where I can see them. Where is your Captain and Mr. Birla?"

Turning, the Commander walked a few paces back to where the fallen leader lay. Grabbing him by the collar he dragged the man over and dumped him at Jessie's feet. "He is here, but he is no longer _my_ leader."

Her eyes flicked from the man at her feet to the tattered place on his uniform where his insignia used to be. After a moment, she smiled fleetingly. "As the Sultana said, an honorable opponent is a gift beyond price. Can you control your comrades, Commander?"

The man's gaze raked over the remaining mercenaries, his eyes locking briefly with each of the exhausted men. Finally, he turned back to her. "They will follow my orders," he replied.

"Good enough. Now, where is Birla?"

"Here," Garrett replied from her right. When she turned toward him, he used a foot to roll the man onto his back. Then he smiled. "Hello, Jessica."

"Mr. Blackman, it's good to see you again." Her tone was pleasant but her face remained grave. Movement at the corner of her eye caused her gaze to shift briefly to another new arrival and she nodded. "Paul."

"Glad to see you're still with us."

"I thought I sent you to the States."

"You did. I came back."

"And your mission?"

"Successfully executed. The delivery went without a hitch and the 'package' is safe at its destination." A grin played at the corner of his mouth. "Your father never ceases to amaze me." Jessie just snorted softly. "Brought along someone else you might be glad to see again." He gestured and when Jessie looked up she saw Jade salute her jauntily.

"I see you made it," Jessie called to her.

"Did you have any doubts?"

"Quite a few, actually."

Jade grinned. "You kids have no faith."

Jessie just shook her head and then gestured to one of the guardsmen, who had remained close at her side the entire time. He stepped forward quickly. Gesturing to the Captain and Birla, she instructed, "Tie both of them securely and find a safe place to hold them until they awake. I have no doubt that the Sultan and Sultana will wish to see them as soon as they are conscious again." The man nodded and moved away, gesturing to several of his fellows to assist him. When Jessie would have turned away, the Commander stopped her. "Lady, can you tell me what your intentions are for me and those I now lead?"

"That is not for me to decide, Commander," she said. "Your crimes were not against me, but rather against the people of this country. Right now, the only ones who can say what is to become of you are the Sultan and his wife. You must await their word." Gesturing to her left, she told him, "Take your men over there and wait. As soon as I can, I will get medical aid to you. Do you have emergency supplies that you can tend to your wounded for now?"

"Yes."

"Very well." She paused and then laid a hand on his arm briefly as he began to turn away. When he looked at her quizzically, she said, "Know that I will speak to them on your behalf." She gestured to the former Captain, who now hung limply in the grasp of two guardsmen. "What you did here was not easy."

"No," he agreed heavily. Then he looked her straight in the eyes. "But it was the right thing to do." Then he turned and walked away silently.

Jessie watched him for a few seconds and then sighed softly. She rubbed her eyes wearily and, without even looking up, called sharply, "Hemant!"

The boy materialized at her side immediately. "Yes, my Lady?"

"Take a message to the Sultan and my sister. Tell them that this area is secure and ask that they join us here as soon as possible." The boy bowed profoundly and then scurried away without a word. With eyes closed, head bowed, and shoulders slumped, Jessie stood motionless for a long time, as though marshalling her strength for whatever would come next. Finally, sensing a presence near at hand, she raised her head and found herself staring into the concerned eyes of Jade Kenyon.

"You okay, Jess?"

Jessie's eyes swept the room and then returned to the older woman. "Oh yeah, I'm just dandy."

Swiftly, Jade laid a warm, comforting hand on her shoulder. "You did what you had to do. Don't ever doubt that."

"Yes, I know. But it still doesn't make it any easier to live with." Turning to Garrett, she said quietly, "How bad is he?" It took a few seconds for the change of subject to register, but once it did, he simply shook his head mutely. "Shit. Is he still alive?"

"He was when I left . . . barely. You have to know, Jessica, that it's Dr. Mason's opinion that it's probably too late."

For a long moment, Garrett thought that piece of news was going to be the last straw. Jessie wrapped her arms around herself as she began to shake uncontrollably, and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Angel. . ." she whispered raggedly to herself. "I'm sorry. I tried . . . I really did . . ."

Garrett reached out quickly and caught her elbow to help steady her while Jade did the same on her other side. "Hang on, kid," the older woman said in a low voice. "You can't afford to fall apart now. Just hold it together for a little bit longer. It's almost over." She squeezed Jessie arm and added, "Here comes Hadji and Kefira . . . and Jonny's with them."

Jessie swiped at her eyes frantically and took several deep, calming breaths. Then she squared her shoulders and turned to greet them. The four stopped in the middle of the room. Jonny moved to stand at her shoulder as Jessie bowed deeply to the royal pair. "Excellencies. It is over. The Janissaries have surrendered and your enemies are now our captives and await your judgment."

"Our enemies will wait," Hadji replied formally, acknowledging her bow. "At present, I am more concerned with my people."

"We lost about one third of the men we entered battle with," Jessie replied matter-of-factly. "I do not yet have the exact number, but will find out and report back with a complete list of names." He nodded and gestured for her to go on. "Ms. Kenyon was able to keep the civilians held in this room relatively safe during the fight, so I believe there were only minor injuries and no casualties among them."

Hadji inclined his head to Jade. "I thank you for your assistance, Ms. Kenyon, both in the defense of my people and for the assistance you provided to my wife and her sister earlier."

Jade bowed. "I am pleased to serve, Excellency."

Then Hadji turned back to Jessie. "And what of my mother?"

"I am here." Turning hastily, Hadji saw his mother standing with Kefira a short distance away. She was bruised and battered, and leaned heavily on the young woman, but she was alive. When Hadji moved toward her, she waved him off. "You have other things that demand your attention, my son. I am well enough, and my new daughter attends me. You need not concern yourself." She looked at Kefira. "However, I would welcome a place to rest."

Kefira looked at Hadji. "Do you require me, husband?"

Hadji shook his head. "No. Please see to the care of my mother." Kefira nodded and the two women moved off. Turning back to Jessie, he said, "Now we will discuss my enemies."

Jessie sketched a bow of acknowledgement. "Mr. Birla and the Captain of the Janissaries have been bound and are being detained by your guardsmen over there." She gestured to the other side of the room. "Over there are the remaining Janissary soldiers. With the capture of their Captain, they are now being led by a field commander." She gestured to the man who had been watching them from a distance. At her wave, the Commander crossed to them. "Sultan Singh, may I present Field Commander -" She stopped suddenly, looking startled. "I'm sorry, Commander. I never even learned your name."

A hint of a smile flickered and he bowed to her. "Aken Tomas Sental, Lady."

She returned the smile and turned back to Hadji. "This is Field Commander Sental, Excellency, an honorable man who provided invaluable aid to us at the end of this crisis by stopping his former Captain from hurting any of the captives held here. I would ask that, as you contemplate what price must be paid for their participation in what has occurred in your country, you consider that these men are trained to follow orders and they did only what they were directed to do. The former Captain, who we now hold prisoner, was solely responsible for deeming how your people were treated."

Hadji gazed at the man unblinkingly for a long time. Finally, he said, "I admit, Commander, that I find it hard to think kindly of any of the Janissaries. It was at the hands of you and your comrades that much of the misery that has befallen this country was executed. Can you give me one good reason why I should show mercy of any kind to you or your men?"

The Commander sighed softly. "No, Excellency, I cannot." Jessie stared at him in surprise and he just shrugged at her. "Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Lady. You can look back and say, 'This was wrong and it never should have been done.' But making a choice when the future is uncertain . . . that is much more difficult to do. You were correct when you told me that the policies of my Captain were eating at my soul. They had been for a very long time. But we are soldiers and the discipline of soldiers is drilled into us from childhood. Our Captain was selected from among all of us as being the best to lead . . . and at one time I believe that he was. But power corrupts and our Captain was weak. He allowed that power to change him. It happened so slowly that all of us became hardened to the things he demanded we do, and because we were trained to follow orders, we did as he commanded without question. This should have ended long ago . . . but it did not, and the people of this country have paid the price for our lack of honor." He looked up at Hadji and spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. "So no, Excellency. I have nothing to offer in defense of our behavior. I can say only that I regret that it happened, and that we will submit to whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

Hadji was silent for a long time, considering the man's words. As he did so, he saw Mr. Rafiq step out and move to intercept Kefira and Neela. The man bowed to both as they stopped to speak with him. After a moment, he bowed again and then turned toward Hadji. As he moved away, Neela gestured toward the crowd of frightened civilians that huddled near the wall and the two of them drifted in that direction. "I understand the demands placed upon a soldier," Hadji said, turning his attention back to the Commander. "The life you lead is not an easy one, particularly in a world where the mercenary life is looked upon with disfavor. Still, all men have the responsibility to take a stand against what is wrong. Therefore, saying that you were simply following orders will not be sufficient to mitigate all that was done here. My first inclination is to turn you and your comrades over to the people to decide your fate. However, vengeance is not something I believe in and were I to do that, vengeance is what would be exacted from you. So I am going to have to consider how best to handle the matter and you and your men will have to wait upon my judgment."

"Yes, Excellency."

"There is one thing I am going to demand of you, Commander, regardless of what other price you must pay."

"You need only name it."

"During your time here, your Captain took many children from their families . . . sons, in particular . . . designed, I think, to add to the ranks of the Janissary Corps." The Commander nodded. "They are to be returned, Commander. Immediately. The parents of these children are grieving for them and I will not have their pain prolonged any longer than necessary."

The Commander bowed profoundly. "It shall be as you command, Excellency. If you will assign guards to go with me and will give me permission to leave the palace, I will go to the place they are being held and bring them here."

Movement over Jessie's shoulder had distracted Hadji again as he caught a glimpse of white among the civilians. Unease stirred for an instant as he watched his wife and mother move among the people. However, at the Commander's words, his attention snapped back to the man. "They are here? In the city?" he demanded sharply.

"Yes, Excellency. They were to be removed later today by transport plane. If you permit, I will notify those at our home base that leadership has changed, that our contract here has been canceled, and see to it that the flight is stopped."

Mistrust flared and Hadji demanded harshly, "And how do I know that you will not use this opportunity to call in more troops to beset us?"

"He is an honorable man, Excellency," Jessie interposed. "He has surrendered to me and he will not go back on his word. I swear this to you on my own life."

**" . . . IS YOUR FAULT!!!!"** The shrill, raised voice sliced through the quiet room, causing all eyes to focus on three women who had separated from the edge of the crowd on the far end of the room. Neela and Kefira stood facing Daria, who appeared highly agitated. 

"Calm down, child -" 

"Sister -"

_" . . . murdered him!"_

"No. Child, he lied -"

_**"SHE HAS A GUN!!!!!"**_

Violence exploded before anyone even had the chance to move. Neela lunged forward, interposing herself between the two sisters, and grabbed frantically for Daria's arm. The sound of two rapid gunshots ripped through the room at the same time as Kefira lunged into the struggle and the three women converged into a single, struggling mass. There was another single shot and then three more in rapid succession, as one of the guardsmen tried to stop Daria. Chaos erupted as shouts and terrified screams echoed loudly in the room and people began running in every direction. More guardsmen surged forward trying to stop the fight, as Paul yelled at everyone to hold their fire. Hadji had shoved Jonny and Jessie aside, leaping toward the three women even before the echoes of the first gunshots had died away. They immediately followed, yelling at him to be careful and demanding to know who had the gun.

Hadji grabbed Kefira by the shoulders, pulling her away from the other two. Her expression was one of stunned disbelief as she sagged in his arms, her knees buckling. The hand that grasped at his arm was covered in blood. Jonny and Jessie pulled Neela away just as she collapsed, while Commander Sental managed to catch Daria's limp form before she struck the floor and eased her down gently. The heavy, metallic thud of the handgun striking the floor caused everyone to flinch.

_"Get a doctor!"_ Jonny yelled immediately, causing Mahavir to turn and sprint out of the room. "What the hell happened? Who's hit?"

"Neela is for sure," Jessie said grimly, pressing down firmly just below her ribcage. Even through the fabric of her sari, Jonny could see the blood welling up between Jessie's fingers. Reaching back, he grabbed his shirt and hauled it over his head, wadded it up and pressed it against Neela's chest to try to help stop the bleeding.

"As is this one," the Commander added.

"Kefira . . . Kefira are you hurt?" Hadji demanded frantically as he fumbled at her black leather jacket ineffectually.

"Let me do that," Jade told him, shoving his hands out of the way. "Just hold her." Swiftly, she stripped the jacket off and then added. "Kefira's hit, too." Gesturing imperatively for one of the towels that someone had just produced, she pressed it to the young woman's side.

"Beloved, say something!" Hadji begged as he shoved her hair out of her face.

Her gaze was glazed as looked up at him. "She . . . shot . . . me," she gasped. "Said I . . . killed . . . her husband . . ."

Mr. Rafiq knelt beside the Commander and reached out to support Daria's head. Her eyes opened and slowly she focused on him. "The murder . . . of my . . . husband . . . is avenged," she gasped. Blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth and she coughed weakly. "Honor . . . is served, my father." Her back suddenly arched, she gasped one final time, and then her body went slack as she died.

"No, daughter . . . no." the old man whispered painfully and gathered her to him. As the Commander moved back, releasing her body, Rafiq sat down hard on the floor and buried his face in her hair, moaning incoherently. 

_"Kefira!"_ Hadji cried desperately.

"Easy, Hadji," Jade advised him, pressing the towel more tightly against her side. "This isn't bad. Looks like the bullet struck a rib and skated along it without penetrating. She's going to be all right."

"Neela isn't," Jonny said to Jessie in a low voice as the woman shifted her head, calling out for her son softly. "The way she's bleeding, at least one of those shots must have hit something vital."

"I know," she replied softly. "She's not gonna make it, Jonny."

_"Where the hell is that doctor????"_ he yelled over his shoulder. He stared down at Neela for a moment longer and then said to Jessie. "Get him over here, Jess. Hurry." As she rose, Jonny said softly, "Hang on, Neela, he's coming. Just hang on."

Jessie dropped down beside Hadji and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let me stay with her, Hadji. Jonny needs you over there."

"No," he replied, sounding dazed. "I cannot leave her . . ."

Shaking him hard, she said snapped, "**Hadji!** Kefira's going to be okay. Listen to me . . . Jonny needs you over there. Now!" She shoved him away sharply just as the first of the medical personnel arrived. As he staggered to his feet, she and Jade began helping the new arrivals load Kefira onto a stretcher.

Hadji stood staring at Kefira for an instant longer, and then turned toward his brother. "What is it -" he began, but the words froze in his throat as he took in the sight. Four swift strides and he was down beside Neela and had her cradled in his arms. _"Mother?!?"_ For a moment, Jonny thought he was too late, but then her eyelids fluttered and she looked up at her son as he urgently said to her, "Hold on mother! A doctor is on the way."

"K-Kefira?" she asked in a whisper. "I . . . I tried . . . to . . . protect . . . her . . ."

"She will be all right. A graze only." He struggled to smile against the grief that filled him, knowing she was dying. With a conscious effort he tried to lighten his tone. "We will have matching scars."

The hint of a smile touched her lips and then it was gone. "Daria?" she whispered hoarsely. 

Hadji looked over to see the old man cradling the limp body of Kefira's sister. Commander Sental caught his eye and shook his head silently. "Dead," he replied in a harsh tone, "as she should be."

"Do not . . . blame her . . . my son. She acted . . . out of grief . . . and . . . as she had been . . . taught. I was . . . careless. Knew the . . . Janissary . . . told her . . . Kefira had ordered . . ." Her voice faltered for an instant, and then, with an effort, she continued. ". . . ordered . . . her husband . . . killed. Tried . . . to . . . tell . . . her. Wouldn't listen." Her voice faded again and her eyes drifted closed one more.

"Mother, no!" Hadji called to her in a choked sob. "Please -"

After a long moment, her eyes opened again. In a weak voice, she said, "Hadji . . . listen . . . to me. I was . . . wrong . . . to try to . . . keep you . . . here."

He cut her off. "No, Mother. This is my responsibility. I promise you, I will see it through and make you proud of me."

**"NO!"** Desperation seemed to give strength to that single word and her eyes widened. Determination shone clearly in them as she fought to continue. "Finish . . . what you . . . set . . . in . . . motion, and then . . . return . . . to . . . America. The independence . . . you . . . have given . . . to . . . our people . . . has returned . . . their . . . pride. You . . . were . . . right. Do not . . . let . . . my . . . death . . . destroy all . . . you . . . have . . . done. Promise . . . me . . ."

"Mother, I -"

"The last . . . and . . . only thing . . . I . . . ask . . . of . . . you. Turn the . . . reigns . . . of power . . . over to those . . . you . . . have groomed . . . for . . . the position and . . . take your . . . wife home . . . to . . . America . . . where you . . . belong . . ." She groped for his hand weakly and as he caught it, she gasped, "Promise . . . me . . . "

"I - I promise, Mother," he said on a sob.

She truly smiled at him, and said, "Love . . . you . . . my son . . ." Then, with a final sigh, she died.

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Night had fallen on the capital city of Bangalore when Sultan Hadji Singh and his wife walked through the shattered main gate to face the huge crowd that had assembled in the plaza that fronted the palace. Jonny walked at Hadji's right hand and Jessie at Kefira's left. Both Hadji and Kefira were dressed in full royal attire, while Jonny and Jessie wore black leather combat gear. Behind them were the men and women who had followed both throughout the coup attempt. At the center of the huge plaza that opened out in front of the palace, a large wooden platform had been erected. Heaped beneath it were piles of wood and brush.

In the hours since the death of Neela Singh, much had changed. Key individuals loyal to Hadji had been recalled to the Palace where strategy meetings had been held. Communications to the world had been re-established and representatives of the United Nations, India, Pakistan, and the United States had been brought in as independent observers to verify for the world leaders that the coup attempt was over and had failed. In a decision that had been made by Kefira and reluctantly agreed to by Hadji, Arun Birla and the Janissary Captain had been turned over to the United Nations military forces. They were immediately taken and transported to Geneva, Switzerland for imprisonment and subsequent trial on the charges of murder, insurrection, and multiple human rights violations. Kefira had successfully argued that it was vital that the world saw that even in the face of the atrocities that had occurred, Bangalore was a nation that believed in fairness and law, and since she did not believe that anyone in Bangalore could truly be impartial, it was only proper that the two perpetrators be judged by people from outside the country based on factual evidence.

True to his word, Commander Sental had taken a group of guards to a warehouse near the Bangalore City airport, where the stolen children were being held. All had been well treated during their imprisonment, and were brought back to the palace where volunteers began gathering information to start the search for their parents. Based on a recommendation from Jessie, which was strongly supported by Kefira, the remaining Janissary soldiers were placed under guard in a secluded, secure wing of the palace, where they would be held for trial. Final decisions on their fates were to be based on the actions of each individual during their stay in Bangalore. Commander Sental was assigned responsibility for the conduct of the remaining Janissaries in the country, and he immediately set about bringing all of them into the city. When Hadji questioned him about that decision, the Commander replied that all who served in the conflict were subject to the citizens' judgment and he would not have anyone doubt that they were not prepared to face the repercussions of their actions and to accept the responsibility. How popular that made him with his own men, no one was ever able to determine, but under the Commander's leadership, the soldiers were quiet and caused no trouble, so Hadji chose to accept the Commander's decision in the matter.

The people who had sided with Mr. Birla in the conflict were also kept in the palace. When several protested that they wished to return home, Hadji informed them that they had none to return to. In the only unilateral action he took that day, Hadji declared that the lands and property of anyone who openly supported Mr. Birla's insurrection would be forfeit and that it was all to be subdivided among the poor who used to live on and work the lands. The original owners would be allowed to take only what personal property they needed to survive, and anything of intrinsic value, such as jewelry, precious metals or artwork, would be liquidated and the money used to help in the repair and reconstruction work. Many of the historic works of art and jewelry were to be purchased from the country's treasury, where they would be housed in a new historic museum dedicated to the preservation of Bangalore's history and heritage. The new museum would be built at the opposite end of the plaza from the palace and would be dedicated in honor of Neela Singh.

As Peter McCaffrey stood to one side filming the action, Hadji and Kefira stopped and stepped aside, allowing a processional bearing three bodies to pass them. As the silent crowd watched, the gauze-wrapped forms were carried to the platform at the center of the plaza, placed carefully upon the raised platform, and then the bearers retreated. After a moment, Hadji and Kefira stepped forward once more.

"Tonight we come together to say farewell and to send the spirits of the dead on to the next life."

Hadji's voice echoed hollowly around the plaza as the amplification system that Mr. McCaffrey had hastily assembled picked up his words and broadcast them to the crowd in the plaza and across the world.

"I call upon all of the citizens of Bangalore and the world to reflect on what has happened here over the preceding weeks and months. Greed . . . both for money and power . . . is a cancer that feeds on itself and destroys indiscriminately. As a nation, it will be impossible to tally all that we have lost as a result of this conflict. Entire villages have been burned, crops destroyed, homes ransacked, and children stolen. The suffering of our people has been intense. But as terrible as those things are, they cannot begin to approach what we have suffered due to the loss of good people . . . people who can never be replaced, either in our hearts or minds. I ask you now to join with me in remembering and honoring some of those people. Rajeev and Anila Subramanian . . . who believed in this country and her people and fought both tradition and opposition to make a better life for those around them. Also Subir and Daria Rafiq . . . whose only true crime was to believe in and try to abide by the traditions that served as the foundations of this nation. And finally, I ask that you consider Neela Singh, my mother, who endured more than any of the rest of us will ever know, and yet never wavered in her struggle to do what she felt was best for the people of this country.

"To these honored dead, and to the countless, unnamed others who have been sacrificed, I make this pledge: Bangalore will continue. Her heritage will not be forgotten, but neither will the institutions that allowed this horror to happen be allowed to endure. Over the next several weeks, a new ruling council will be established. Its purpose will be to draft a constitution and a new framework for the government of this country . . . a government that will be run by the people and will be answerable to them. And when that is in place, the Sultancy will be dissolved. The time for inherited rule in this country is past. It is time the people have a say in their own future."

Walking silently across the stone to a nearby dais, he took two flaming torches from their holders. Returning, he handed one of them to Kefira and, side-by-side, the two of them walked to the base of the funeral pyre. For a moment, they stood staring up at the platform above their head in silence, and then, as one, they thrust the torches into the center of the kindling. Once the fire had taken hold, both threw their torches into pile and stepped back.

"Goodbye, Mother," Hadji said. "May the next life see you safely reunited with my father and bring you the peace you never knew in this one."

Tears glistened on Kefira's cheeks as she added, "Go with God, sister. Honor was served and your husband's murderer will pay, just as you desired. I wish you nothing but happiness as you ascend to your new life."

Without another word, the two turned and with Jonny and Jessie at their backs, they retreated to the palace and the people who awaited them.

An hour later, a small group assembled at the postern gate at the rear of the palace. Jonny, Hadji, Jessie and Kefira were all there, as were Garrett Blackman, Paul Bussac, Jade Kenyon, Vijay and Mahavir Patel, and Tarang Kumar. The royal regalia was gone and in its place, both Hadji and Kefira were now dressed in black leather.

"You are sure about this?" Hadji asked his wife for about the tenth time.

"I am certain, beloved. You _must_ go. Dr. Quest needs you. I will remain here and continue what we have started."

"You could come with me."

She smiled at him painfully. "No, I cannot. We have already discussed this. We cannot leave Bangalore without a leader, and I will be of no use with what needs to be done in Maine. So go, husband. Between us, we have already lost too many parents. I will not see us lose another one." Then she reached up and pulled his head down to kiss him.

At the same time, Jonny pleaded with Jessie, "Please come back with us. We need you."

"Jonny, I swore that as long as she was in Bangalore, I would be at her back. I'm the closest thing she's got left to family here. I can't walk out on her now. Furthermore, you don't need me. Hadji will be there to do the research and you'll be there to apply it. So go and do what you can. As soon as Hadji gets back, I'll be on the first flight home."

He held her tightly and gazed deeply into her eyes. "This isn't because you're mad at Dad, is it? Over that last fight, I mean."

Tears misted her eyes and she shook her head. "No, Jonny, it's not. No matter how angry I might be at Dr. Quest, I would never abandon him. That would be no less than abandoning you. I love you Jon Quest, and I always will. Just go do what you have to do and I'll join you as soon as I can." She kissed him tenderly and then tried to free herself so she could step away, but he wouldn't let go. Pulling her tightly into his arms, he buried his face in her hair and clung to her.

"I was so afraid I was going to lose you," he whispered to her hoarsely. "And now you're making me leave you again."

She held him in a fierce grip for a moment longer and then pulled determinedly away. "Only for a little while. Now go, before my resolve crumbles and I do something I know is wrong."

Jonny stood staring at her for a moment and then squared his shoulders and turned away. "You ready, Hadji?"

"Yes," he said reluctantly, releasing Kefira and watching her step back to Jessie's side. He heaved a deep sigh and then repeated, "Yes, I am ready."

"You sure you won't come along, Jade?" Jonny asked the dark-haired woman who stood nearby. "You could meet the newest Bannon."

Jade laughed. "No thanks. I'm not sure Estella would ever let me that close. Besides, it's time for me to go home. I do have other irons in the fire besides you guys."

"Okay. Paul?"

Paul shook his head. "As long as Jessica is here, then so am I. It's a promise I made to Race and one I intend to keep."

Jonny nodded gratefully. "Thanks. I appreciate that." Paul just nodded.

Jonny looked back at his brother again and then, as one, they turned to Garrett Blackman. "Is everything set?"

"The plane's fueled and the flight plan's filed," Garrett replied. "Jessica saw to it personally."

Jonny took a deep breath, cast one final look at Jessie, and then said in a determined voice, "My dad's waited long enough, then. Let's get back to Maine."


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter Fifty-four**

  


"I understand that this is an extremely difficult decision to make, Mr. Bannon, but the facts are clear. Dr. Quest is comatose, his brain activity is next to nil, and he's only being kept alive by the machines."

Race eyed the group that faced him coldly. The doctor in charge of Benton's care wore an expression that Race had seen all too often and thoroughly detested . . . sympathetic in a distant sort of way and yet sadly firm and insistent. Standing next to him was the nurse in charge of caring for Benton and monitoring the equipment that kept him alive. Her expression was genuinely grieved, but still resigned. Aaron Sorenson, the family's attorney, was also there. His expression was bland and regardless of how hard he tried, Race couldn't tell what the man was thinking. And finally, standing alone and off to one side, was Barbara Mason.

As Race glanced at her, he felt his heart contract sharply in pity. Her face was quiet and withdrawn, and to someone who didn't know her well, she probably looked professionally sympathetic. But Race Bannon and his wife _did_ know her well, and as a result, her expression told an entirely different story. The woman was in pain . . . serious pain. But she still held herself separate . . . aloof . . . struggling desperately to maintain her professionalism. Race had long suspected that Barbara Mason had feelings for Benton Quest . . . feelings that were probably tangled and confused, and a great deal more than friendship. However, she had always been careful to keep them hidden, particularly from Benton himself. From behind him, he felt Estella lay a gentle hand on his arm and he focused once more on the doctor in front of him.

"No," he replied flatly.

"Race, you know this isn't what he wanted," Aaron said gently. "He's had a living will for a long time, and his wishes are extremely clear. No long-term life support."

"I don't care. I will **NOT** give the order to turn off the machines."

"Mr. Bannon," the doctor began again, but Race cut him off ruthlessly.

"I've told you before. It's not my decision to make. It's his sons that have to do this."

The doctor shook his head. "Mr. Bannon, his sons are both still minors."

"His eldest son is 19 and the ruler of an entire country. And his youngest son lives independently and supports himself and his girlfriend. Both are old enough to understand the situation and make a reasoned decision. Even if I wanted to, I _can't_ take that choice away from them." The doctor and Aaron exchanged a look, both prepared to continue the argument, but Race stopped them with a look. "Aaron, just forget it. Quit bugging me about this, okay? I'm not going to change my mind. Jonny and Hadji would never forgive me if I authorized the removal of the life support and Benton died before they got back from Bangalore."

"By law, it is your decision to make, Race," Aaron reminded him, trying to make his argument once more. "No matter how mature you feel they are, Jonny and Hadji won't be of legal age until they reach 21, and Benton's will makes you their guardian of record. I know it's hard, but it doesn't change the fact that you have to be the one to make the decision."

"Maybe I'm the one who has to give the final order," Race said, "but it doesn't mean that I have the right to make the decision and I won't do it. I'll leave that to Jonny and Hadji. If you need me to rubberstamp it once they make the choice, then I will. But not before then."

"And if none of them ever return from Bangalore?" Aaron asked carefully.

Race groped behind him blindly and felt Estella's hand grip his reassuringly. "Then I'll deal with it . . . but not before they bring me the bodies of those two boys. Now go away . . . all of you. We don't want you here any more." Turning his back on them, he sat down on the bed next to his wife and ignored them. There was a long moment of silence before one of them uttered a deep sigh and then quiet footsteps marked their retreat. Just as Race heard the door sigh shut, he felt movement again and another set of footsteps moved toward the door.

"Don't go, Barbara," he said quietly without looking around.

"I don't want to intrude . . ." Something in her tone caused him to twist around to look at her. With her co-workers gone, the shell of professionalism had fallen away to reveal the extent of the woman's grief. A few silent tears slid down her face, causing Race to rise hastily and cross to her. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he drew her over to the bed where Estella took her hand and squeezed it in sympathy.

"W-w-w-why?" she asked futilely, struggling to keep control. "He d-d-didn't deserve this."

"I know, I know . . ." Estella crooned to her, just giving her time to gather herself up again. Race handed her a handkerchief and waited patiently.

Finally, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, she murmured, "I should go and give you some privacy . . ."

"No," Race said quickly. "You're family . . . just as much as Estella or me." For the first time, he looked at the woman directly. "You think I'm wrong?"

"To make Jonny and Hadji decide when to remove the support that will terminate their father's life?" When he nodded, she sighed deeply and rubbed her hand across her eyes wearily. "I don't know, Race. That's a hard call for anyone to make, no matter what their age."

"But do you think I'm wrong to make them do it?" Race asked her insistently.

Barbara was silent for a long time. Finally, she shook her head. "No, I don't think you're wrong. Both of them are old enough and mature enough to do it. And if the decision is taken away from them, I'm not sure they'd ever find any kind of closure."

Race looked down at Estella and saw the pain that hovered in her eyes. The emotion and reality there made him grimace. "That's assuming they'll ever forgive themselves for not being here to try to do something about it in the first place. Jonny, in particular, is going to have a really tough time with this."

"I know."

"That's why it's so important that they be given the chance to return home and review the situation themselves," Estella said for the first time.

Both Race and Barbara stared at the woman in astonishment. "Surely, you don't think there's anything they can do?" Barbara said incredulously.

Estella shifted, releasing her husband's hand, and shrugged irritability. "Probably not. But to allow the entire situation to run its course and end without giving them the opportunity . . . Race is right. If we do that, they'll never be able to make peace with what's happened. And who knows? Hadji's a damned fine researcher. Benton had made progress in clarifying the illness and maybe with his notes, Hadji can find something Benton missed. We all know that toward the end, Benton's analytical abilities were slipping."

"Yes, but -" Barbara started to say, but Estella interrupted.

"You _said_ there was no brain damage."

"No tissue damage," Barbara corrected. "But something's obviously wrong because his brain is shutting down. We just can't figure out what it is."

Estella shrugged. "Be that as it may, if there's no physical damage, then there's still a chance that Hadji can figure out what's causing this and reverse it. At the very least, we owe them the chance to try."

After a long time, Barbara finally nodded. "You're right. And for their sakes, we have to at least try to -" The sudden sound of raised voices out in the hallway caused her to break off abruptly. "What in heaven's name -"

But Race was already out the door, his sharp hearing having caught what the other two hadn't picked up on yet.

_**"JONNY! HADJI!" **_

Both young men were facing the charge nurse that sat behind the desk at the nurses' station just off of the elevator, and their tense posture said they weren't getting the responses they wanted. They both whirled at the sound of his voice, and then sprinted for him, the three of them meeting midway down the hall. Race grabbed one in each arm and hugged them fiercely, his voice choked and husky as he kept repeating over and over, "You're alive . . . oh God, you're both alive."

The two of them returned the gesture with abandon, allowing the horrors of the past few weeks to recede for just a few moments and taking comfort in the well-known sense of love that had sheltered them both for so many years. Finally, Race cleared his throat, struggling to get himself under control and stepped back. As he did so, he looked around as if searching for something. Suddenly, he went white and rounded on Jonny.

"Where's Jessie?" he demanded.

"She's fine," Jonny assured him, gripping his shoulder reassuringly. "She and Kefira are holding the fort in Bangalore. When Mr. Blackman finally reached us, the situation was such that we couldn't all leave. Kefira stayed so Hadji could come, and Jess wouldn't leave her over there by herself." He gave Race a weary smile. "Believe me, she's safer there than anywhere else in the world right now. The people idolize both of them and would never let anything happen to them." Turning to the latest arrival, he said, "Hi, Dr. Mason."

Barbara caught him in an equally ferocious hug and whispered, "Thank God you're home safely. We were so worried." While a little surprised at the exuberance of her greeting, Jonny willingly returned the gesture. A moment later, she abandoned him to greet Hadji in the same fashion.

"If you _**ever**_ do something like this again, I swear -" Race began shakily, but stopped at the sound of Estella's call, demanding to know what was going on. "Come on . . . before she climbs out of that bed and comes after all of us."

Eventually, after all of the initial greetings had been exchanged, the five of them settled in Estella's room and the two new arrivals demanded to know the situation. While Barbara described the escalation of the symptoms and Benton's subsequent decline, Race leaned against the window and watched Jonny and Hadji carefully. What he saw he didn't like at all.

Both young men looked infinitely older than they had the last time he had seen them, and there was no trace of that lighthearted spark that had been a hallmark of their personalities. They had lost weight and Race had the feeling they were almost at the breaking point. Dark circles shadowed Jonny's eyes and his shoulders slumped in a way Race had never seen before. And every so often his mind seemed to drift and he'd lose complete track of what he had been saying. He bore a long scratch down the left side of his face that had been treated but still looked fresh and painful, and something about the occasional way he winced at loud noises made Race suspect that he had a monster of a headache. And if Jonny looked bad, Hadji was worse. There was a haunted look about him, and once, when he reached out for something, Race saw his hand shaking noticeably. He also hadn't missed the sharp flinch when Barbara had put her arms around his waist to hug him. With gut instinct honed from years of working in black ops, Race knew that neither of them would be able to take the news of their father's condition right now.

"So what's the bottom line," Jonny demanded suddenly, cutting through Barbara's explanation. "Where do we stand."

Barbara shot Race a veiled look, and he knew immediately that she agreed with his private assessment of Jonny and Hadji's inability to cope with what they had to tell them. Before anyone else could respond, Race cut in, "When was the last time either one of you had any sleep? Or a decent meal?" Both stared at him blankly. "That's what I thought. We're going to wait and continue this discussion after the two of you have had the chance to recoup."

"I do not believe -" Hadji began at the same time Jonny replied, "We've wasted enough time -"

"No," Race responded firmly, cutting them both off. "You're both too exhausted to think straight and we need you clear-headed. Furthermore, unless I'm seriously mistaken, both of you are hurt."

"We're fine," Jonny objected quickly.

There was a metal rolling cart sitting next to Estella's bed, and Race smacked the side of it sharply, causing a loud clanging sound. Jonny couldn't control the flinch that resulted at the stab of pain that shot through his aching skull. Automatically, he pressed his fingers to one temple trying to ease the pain. "Fine, huh?"

"Jonny, you need to let Dr. Mason examine you," Hadji commented. "You never would see a doctor in Bangalore."

"I tell you, I'm fine," Jonny growled as Barbara rose immediately and crossed to him.

"What did you do?" she asking him, catching his chin and forcing his head up so she could check his eyes.

"He banged the back of his head on a tile floor and knocked himself out for several hours," Hadji replied for him. "And when he became conscious again, he promptly got up and went into a battle. He has rested very little since."

Barbara's incoherent sound of concern as her fingers probed at his skull caused Jonny to glare at his brother ferociously. "Look who's talking! Don't forget that less than a week ago, I put over thirty stitches into you after you were knifed in the side. And could you sit still and let it heal? _Noooo! _ You had to go crawling all over the Bangalore countryside, taking on more guards with knives and climbing the palace walls. Not to mention that we had one hell of a time getting you to eat _or_ sleep. You're damned lucky you can even walk!"

_"That's enough!"_ Race said sharply as Barbara hit the call button on Estella's bed. "I thought both of you had better sense!"

"It is not like we had any other choice," Hadji said defensively.

A nurse appeared at the doorway and Barbara instructed her, "I need a set of instruments for a physical exam. Also, get me a dressing tray, two extra-strength Tylenol, and -" She paused, looking down at Jonny. "What had you been giving him?"

"Penicillin and morphine."

She raised an eyebrow, startled. "_Morphine?_ Where did you get - No, never mind. How much and how often?"

"Knocked him out cold the first time because I had to stitch him up. Furthermore, he'd been bleeding like a stuck pig and he didn't want to stay put. He was out for close to 20 hours, but I don't think all of that was the drug's doing. I only gave it to him twice after that, once in a small dose that was just enough to ease the pain so he could rest and the last time, I knocked him out again. That was about three or four days ago, I think." He shook his head and pressed the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose firmly trying again to ease the throbbing behind his eyes. "Time's run together so much, I'm not exactly sure."

"It's good enough. Bring me a bottle of tetracycline and a syringe, as well. Now, sit still while I see if your head's still intact. Hadji, I want you on your good side on the other bed over there. Race, help him get his shirt off and get the wound exposed. I'll be there in a minute."

"What about Jessie? And Kefira?" Estella asked with trepidation. "Were they hurt, too?"

"Jess is okay," Jonny replied through gritted teeth as Barbara probed the sensitive spot on the back of his head. "Kefira was shot, though."

"Shot!??" she exclaimed in horror

"She's not . . ." Race began hoarsely. His hand moved to the back of Hadji's head automatically, stroking his hair in an unconscious gesture of consolation.

"She will be all right," Hadji assured them hastily, smiling up at him in gratitude. "She was not badly injured. And your friend, Mr. Bussac, and his men stayed behind to be certain nothing happens to either of them."

Race looked perplexed. "Bussac? I don't think -"

"Paul Descarte," Jonny supplied with a sigh of relief as Barbara finished with him and handed him the Tylenol that the nurse had just brought. "Although how you could be expected to keep up with him is beyond me. He seems to have more names than countries we've visited!"

Race gave a half-hearted chuckle. "He always was a slippery one." Then his smiled died. "We heard about Kefira's parents."

"Yeah," Jonny replied with a sideways glance at his brother. At the mention of Kefira's family, Hadji had tensed and with an almost imperceptible movement, he seemed to curl up on himself. "Yeah, that was tough."

Race looked from one to the other and then some deep-seated feeling of dread made him ask. "And Neela?"

This time the withdrawal was obvious to all of them. The silence stretched for a long moment, and finally Jonny replied, "She was killed." He paused a bit more, and when it became obvious that Hadji wasn't going to elaborate, he added heavily, "By Kefira's sister, Daria."

The silence was stark and painful. "For God's sake, _why_?" Race finally asked hoarsely.

"She deliberately stepped into the path of a bullet meant for Kefira. They tried to warn us," Jonny said wearily. "Vijay and Mahavir . . . and even Kefira herself. They kept saying that we didn't understand the culture and couldn't trust her. We both just thought that people didn't like her. But they were right. The Rafiq family supported Birla and when she married into that family, she switched sides in the war. After her husband was killed, tradition dictated that the honorable thing to do was to follow her husband in death, and since the Janissary had told her that Kefira ordered Subir killed -"

"There was nothing _honorable_ about it!" Hadji interrupted harshly, his body so tense it trembled constantly. "Not in the greed that spawned the conflict, not in the deaths of so many people, not in _**any**_ of it!" His voice cracked and he stopped on a strangled sob. "She doesn't deserve this . . ." he moaned softly.

Race swore silently to himself as he sat down on the bed next to the young man and began rubbing his back consolingly. But for the first time since Hadji had come to live with them, he didn't respond. He remained curled up and withdrawn, sunken in his own misery. Race looked over at Jonny, but the gaze he got in return was one of utter helplessness.

_Too young,_ Race thought in despair. _Too young, too idealistic, and totally overwhelmed by the realities of the world. What do I do?_ Fervently, he wished Benton were there. This was what he always excelled at. But the decision was taken out of his hands. Barbara suddenly appeared at the door to the room with a syringe in hand. Race blinked, not even aware that she had left. She crossed to Hadji and quickly administered the drug. He seemed not to notice, but after a minute or two, Race felt the tremors begin to ease and the tension slowly seep away. A few moments later, he went slack, his deep breathing marking his descent into sleep.

Race released a pent up breath in a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Barbara. What did you give him?"

"A sedative. He has to get some rest or he's going to break." She glanced over at Jonny, who now sat beside Estella's bed with his elbows on his knees and his head held in his hands. "Both of them do." Barbara turned to the nurse that had followed her into the room and laid the hypodermic on the tray she carried. Crossing to Jonny, she swabbed his arm with alcohol and reached for a second syringe. He pulled away from her sharply.

"Hey! What is that?!?"

"Something that will help you get some rest," she told him, reaching for his arm again.

"I don't need it. I told you I'm fine!"

"Don't give me that shit!" she snapped back at him, her own pain and frustration erupting suddenly into rage. "For months, it's all I heard from Benton. _'I'm fine, Barbara.' 'Don't nag at me, Barbara.' 'There's nothing wrong with me, Barbara.'_ Well, I don't want to hear it any more, you understand me? I don't! Just shut up and do as you're told." She was on the brink of tears again when Estella stepped in and grabbed Jonny's arm.

"Don't argue, Jon. Just do as she says. It's important."

"But my Dad -"

"Is not going anywhere," Race replied firmly, putting an comforting arm around Barbara's shoulders. "You sleep first. When you both wake up, we'll get you something to eat and then I think we'll be ready to tackle the next stage of this whole mess." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


It was mid-evening when Jonny wandered out of the bedroom of the three-room hotel suite in downtown Portland. He looked dazed and a bit bewildered by the strange surroundings. Race rose immediately and waved him to a nearby chair.

"Sit down before you fall down," he told him as he crossed to the wet bar. He poured a large glass of orange juice and carried it across the room to the young man. "Doctor's orders. Barbara says your blood sugar is somewhere in the sub-basement and that you're to drink this and then eat a substantial dinner. And before you say you aren't hungry, be warned that she's threatening hospitalization if you don't do what she says."

Jonny grimaced. "Okay, I got it. Just order something for me, will you? Right now, I really don't feel up to making a decision."

A short time later, Race hung up the phone and returned to sit down in a nearby chair. "Dinner's on the way. Feel better?"

"Yeah, a little. At least I feel more alive than I did earlier." He rubbed his head, as if trying to clear the cobwebs.

"Head still hurt?"

"No, not really. I just feel kinda . . . I don't know . . . .foggy, I guess. I need to call Jess. Should've done it when we got here. I told her I would."

"You can if you want to, but there's no urgency. I talked with her right after we got back here and she knows you made it safely." He grinned slightly at Jonny's look. "Sorry, but after seeing the state the two of you were in, I needed to reassure myself that my eldest daughter was okay."

"Your _eldest_ daughter? So the baby was a girl. God, Race, I'm sorry. I never even asked. How is she?"

"S'okay. You can be forgiven after everything you've been through. She's doing well. The doctor says we may even get to take her home in about a month or so."

Jonny smiled slightly at the first positive thing he'd heard in weeks. "That's great. What's her name?"

"Emily Margarete."

"Nice. And Estella?"

"Doing well, too."

"Well, at least there's good news somewhere," Jonny said with a sigh. "As for Dad -"

"Jess said to tell you that she and Kefira are doing fine and that someone named Mahavir says that things have gotten downright dull since you left."

Jonny chuckled half-heartedly. "I'm sure Jess and Kefira are keeping things in line. You know, I think they're about the toughest two people I've ever met. All that they went through, and they don't even seem phased by it."

Race leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking at Jonny seriously. "Don't you believe it. The only reason they don't seem shaken is that they haven't been given the chance for it to sink in yet. It will hit them . . . sooner or later. No one can live through what the four of you did and not come out of it changed. Some of it will be for the better . . . some of it won't, but that's the way it works. I just hope that when it all catches up with those two, they'll be back home here with family, because I have the feeling that they're going to need all of the support they can get."

"I shouldn't have left her."

"You had no choice. Just let it go."

Jonny was silent for a long time, staring blankly down into the empty glass in his hand. Finally, he sighed deeply and replied, "Yeah. Okay." He looked up. "So, what's the real scoop -"

"Did you check on Hadji before you came out here?" Race asked, rising and taking the glass from him.

Jonny gave him a hard look, but answered readily. "Yeah. He's still dead to the world. Good thing, too. He needed the sleep."

"You both did." As Race settled back in the chair, he eyed Jonny critically. "Can't say I like the hair, kiddo. You trying to make a fashion statement?"

Jonny snorted. "Hardly. I blended into the crowds in Bangalore a lot better like this, particularly with my skin darkened and brown contact lenses."

"That must have been a sight."

"Well, you missed your chance. As soon as I can figure out how to get the dye out, it's history. Jess doesn't like it, either."

"You may be stuck with letting it grow out. Or you could shave your head."

"Oh, there's a wonderful thought. But Race, about Dad -"

A loud knock on the hotel room door interrupted him again and Race rose hastily. "There's your dinner."

Jonny growled softly in frustration, but let it go for the time being. Rising, he crossed to the wet bar, rinsed out his juice glass, and filled it with water. Then he went to the table where Race was laying out the plates he'd retrieved from the room service waiter. Just as Race finished, an unexpected sound from the other room caused both of them to look up.

"Eat," Race instructed him. "I'll be right back." And with that, he disappeared into the other bedroom.

Jonny contemplated the food spread out before him with distaste. He really _wasn't_ hungry. But he'd also known Barbara Mason for enough years to know that her threat wasn't an idle one. And he did need to keep up his strength. As he began to eat, he contemplated the situation. It wasn't like Race to avoid the subject when there was something important going on, but right now he was playing duck and run like a pro. That couldn't be a good sign.

When Race returned a few minutes later, Jonny pointed with his fork at the chair opposite him and commanded, "Sit down." Race raised an eyebrow at the tone, but complied. "Now, enough evasion, Race. I want to know how bad off my Dad is."

Race sighed and replied, "Jonny, I don't think now is the time. We really need Barbara here. She's the one who understands -"

"I don't want all of the medical mumbo-jumbo. I got enough of that yesterday when she was telling us about the progress of the disease. I want to know the bottom line. How sick is he? When can we talk to him? What do we need to do to get him well again?"

Race leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, scrubbing at his face wearily. After a long moment, he looked Jonny straight in the eye. "I don't know that there's anything you can do, kiddo. There may **never** have been anything you could have done. That's the God's honest truth. Benton worked until he was ready to drop, but I don't think he ever found the key."

"So you're saying there absolutely no hope," Jonny said bleakly.

"No, but I think you need to be prepared for that possibility. As it stands right now, he's comatose and on full life support. There's next to no brain activity, although all the doctors say that they can detect no physical damage. They have no explanation for what's wrong with him or how it happened. It's like he's just been . . . turned off . . . somehow. And no one knows how to turn him back on again."

Jonny laid his fork down carefully and then rubbed his forehead. "There's got to be a way, Race. There just has to be. We simply have to find it." Race didn't reply; just sat staring blankly at the wall over Jonny's shoulder. "What does Dr. Mason say?" Jonny prodded, when his companion showed no sign of continuing.

Race forced himself to look back at the young man across the table and gestured vaguely. "She's a doctor and has to be a realist. But she supported my decision not to do anything else until you and Hadji got back."

"What do you mean?"

"Eat," Race commanded again, but his eyes slid away uncomfortably.

Picking up his fork again, Jonny stabbed a piece of meat as though it were an enemy and stuffed it in his mouth. Around the food, he said, "What aren't you telling me?"

When Race looked at Jonny again, the pain in his eyes was sharp and obvious. "You know your father has a living will?" Jonny nodded. "The doctors have approached me about making the call to cut off his life support. Several times, in fact. The last time, they brought Aaron Sorenson with them."

"Ah shit. What the hell's their hurry? They have someone in mind for the bed?" Jonny threw his fork and napkin onto the table with thinly veiled violence and would have stood, but Race's hand on his forearm stopped him.

"Take it easy, Jonny. They honestly believe that they're following Benton's wishes. You know that your father didn't want to live out his last days like this."

"But they aren't even giving us a chance!"

"Which is why I refused to give the order. They don't know you and Hadji the way I do. If anyone can find a solution to this, it's the two of you. But it also means that this is a decision that you may have to make, and I want you guys to be prepared for that. But only when you're satisfied that there's nothing you can do to change the situation."

Jonny leaned back in his chair, his burst of anger spent. After a moment, he asked painfully, "So what do we do now?"

"We take him home."

The new voice was so unexpected that both of them jumped.

"Hadji!"

Race rose and crossed to him hastily, but Hadji waved off the offered hand with a weary smile.

"I am all right, Race. I have slept and feel a bit better."

"Come eat," Jonny directed him. "We're both under strict orders to do that, and Race seems to have gone nuts when he ordered for me."

Obediently, Hadji came over and sat down in the chair Race had occupied just moments before. With a grimace, he began picking at the food on the table unenthusiastically.

"This first," Race said, setting a glass of orange juice down in front of him. "Home?"

Hadji took a swallow and then nodded. "Father always hated hospitals. If he is to die, I will not see him spend his last remaining hours in that place. We will take him home where he can do so in peace."

"He's right," Jonny agreed quietly when he saw Race's look of misgiving. "We can't leave him there. If he's in the condition you say he is, he won't be hard to care for. Furthermore, we'll need IRIS and the lab if we have any hope of fixing this."

"Do you really believe there is anything we can do, Jonny?" Hadji asked soberly.

"I don't know, but we're sure as hell gonna try."

Pulling up a chair, Race settled into it with a soft sigh. "I'll admit that it will be good to get home. Stel might even be able to come with us. Barbara seemed to think that Dr. Eftekari is about ready to release her, and she desperately wants to get out of there. It'd be a whole lot better for Maia and Vassey, too."

Hadji choked on the mouthful of food he was working on as Jonny stared at Race blankly.

"Better for _who_?"

"Maia and Vassey," Race replied, thumping Hadji on the back as he coughed. At Jonny's continuing blank look, he prompted, "Kefira's little brother and sister?"

"They are **here**?" Hadji wheezed.

_**"ALIVE???"**_ Jonny added incredulously.

Race looked from one to the other. "Yes. You didn't know?"

"Vijay Patel told me Kefira's entire family was dead!" Hadji said shakily.

"That's what Mahavir told me, too," Jonny agreed.

Race shrugged. "I'd say they didn't realize the two of them got out."

"But how did they get here?" Jonny demanded.

"Jessie and Kefira sent them, and Paul Descarte flew them here." Race explained the circumstances surrounding the children's arrival in Maine, finishing his narrative with, "And they've been with us ever since."

"But why didn't Kefira tell me that they had escaped?" Hadji asked plaintively.

"Be fair, Hadji," Jonny said to him. "Neither of you had much chance to talk privately before we left. Furthermore, after that fiasco at the front of the palace right after we met up with them, any discussion about her family seemed to be totally off limits."

"Where are they?" Hadji demanded, deciding hastily that he didn't want to discuss _that_ subject in front of Race.

"Maia's at the hospital. We can't pry her away from Benton. And Vassey's in the other room." Race sat forward abruptly, grabbing Hadji's arm and shoving him firmly back into his chair when he started to rise. "Don't you dare!" Race told him sternly. "It's only been within the last day or so that he's finally begun to let me out of his sight for any period of time, and I just barely managed to get him to sleep before the two of you woke up. I _don't_ want to have to start the process all over again. Just let him be. You can see him in the morning."

Hadji hesitated, but remained seated reluctantly. "How are they?"

Race shrugged. "About what you'd expect. They're traumatized. Both of them have nightmares, and Vassey still refuses to talk. It didn't help that Maia bonded with Benton and then he collapsed and almost died on her before any of us realized what was happening. But most kids are pretty resilient. Given time, I think they'll bounce back." He smiled slightly. "Actually, they remind me of you two in a lot of ways."

Conversation died after that as Jonny and Hadji picked at the meal in front of them and all three contemplated the days to come.

"Home, huh?" Race finally said, breaking the silence once more. "When?"

"As soon as possible." "First thing tomorrow morning." The two replied instantly.

"Well, we definitely have a consensus," Race said dryly. Shoving himself to his feet, he added, "I guess I better starting making some phone calls." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"Home?" Barbara said uncertainly the next morning. "Are they sure about this?"

"Yes. In fact, they're absolutely adamant . . . they say that if there's nothing else the doctors can do, there's no point in having him here. To be honest, I don't think either one of them trusts the doctors here. They say that if all the medical personnel are so determined to turn off his life support, they want him out of here NOW."

"Now Race, you know that no one here would do something like that without the express direction of the family."

"Yes, I know that. But neither of them are prepared to think rationally about the subject or to be reasonable about it. Jonny, in particular, was seriously pissed when he found out that they were pushing me about it."

"Are you surprised?" Estella asked as she struggled to put on her shoes. "We all knew he wouldn't take this situation well."

"Here, let me get those," Race admonished and knelt beside the bed to slip them on her feet. "You know the doctor says you're still supposed to be cautious about bending over."

She smiled at him with fond exasperation. "Yes, I know. You're a worrywart, you know that? Does that mean they're going to have the support removed once we get him settled back at the Compound?"

"No. Hadji put in a call to Norman Rainey at the Quest Foundation last night and between the two of them, they've arranged for a full support system to be installed in Benton's bedroom, as well as a portable system that can be used if we need to move him. The guys from Rockport/Camden Fire and Rescue should be here pretty soon with a med-evac helicopter to handle the transfer."

"They could have contacted someone from here," Estella started to say, but stopped when Race shook his head.

"No. The boys really didn't want strangers caring for him. Jonny called Matt Evans last night, explained the situation, and asked if he could find a couple of local folks to help. When Matt called back a couple of hours later, the Rockport City Council had already called a town meeting, gotten everyone together, and had half the town ready to climb in their cars and come down here immediately. Jonny managed to stop that, but it's anyone's guess how many people will turn up this afternoon."

"It doesn't surprise me. Benton's very well liked," Barbara's voice cracked and she bowed her head, struggling to keep her composure. After a moment, the soft sound of footsteps and the feel of a hand on her shoulder caused her to look up again. Jonny knelt in front of her.

"Don't give up on us," he said to her softly. "We aren't finished yet." She blinked furiously, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her as she nodded her head jerkily. Releasing her shoulder, Jonny caught her hand in a warm grip. "I don't believe Hadji or I have ever thanked you."

"F-For what?"

"For looking after all of us. For being a friend." He paused briefly and then added gently, "And for loving our father the way that you do."

It was the last straw. She gasped as if she had been struck and then she began to cry in deep racking sobs that shook her entire body. Jonny caught her in his arms, hugging her tightly as he gestured at Hadji.

"Close that door, would ya, Hadj?" The young man crossed quickly and closed the hospital room door before anyone could wander by. Then he returned and knelt down with his brother, adding his arms to the grip around the grieving woman. Finally, as her sobs began to ease, Jonny kissed her cheek gently, then leaned back and gave her a small smile. "We aren't giving up, you understand that, right?" She nodded wordlessly. "And we're probably going to need your help. Is that okay?" She nodded once more. "Good." He contemplated her for a moment, then glanced at his brother before saying softly, "You know, Dr. Mason, you make him happy in ways he doesn't even recognize."

"No matter how bad things have been, he has always seemed better after he has spent time with you." Hadji added. "It is very noticeable."

"I guess what we're trying to say is that we hope you can be patient with him," Jonny concluded. "He's pretty slow about this kind of stuff."

A small bubble of laughter rose in Barbara's throat and she gasped, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand while both Race and Estella grinned. "Your father would be mortified at this conversation," she finally managed.

"Probably," Jonny agreed and Hadji just laughed. "But somebody had to say it!"

A light knock on the door interrupted them. As Barbara wiped her face and blew her nose hastily, Jonny rose to stand at her shoulder and Hadji crossed to answer the door. It opened to reveal Matt Evans.

"Hey, Hadji. Good to see you, man." He nodded to the others and added, "Jonny."

Crossing to his old friend, he held out his hand. "Matt. I don't know how to thank you for this . . ."

"You don't have to. We've got a team ready whenever you are."

The two young men nodded and then Hadji added, "Then let us take him home." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


It was close to midnight when Jonny sank wearily into the large leather chair in his father's study. A single, dim lamp on the small table near the door cast the only light, leaving much of the huge, two-story room in blackness. He sat for a long moment in the silent darkness, feeling strange and somehow out of place. Certainly, he'd been in the chair before, both in his father lap and alone, but tonight it felt different somehow.

A shudder moved through him, thinking of his father. Jonny hadn't been back to this house or seen his father since they had parted in May. While the first tentative steps toward reconciliation had been taken, the preceding three months had been extremely difficult to forgive or forget. And the volatile nature of their relationship since he and Jessie had moved out hadn't helped any. Even thinking about it caused his stomach to churn and ache. So when he and Hadji were finally led to the hospital room where Benton lay, Jonny wasn't entirely sure how he felt or what his reaction to seeing his father would be.

For over 24 hours after he and Hadji had arrived at the hospital, Race, Barbara and Estella had contrived to keep them away from Benton. It had taken a while for Jonny to realize that they were trying to give both of them a chance to get their equilibrium back after their experiences in Bangalore and to acclimate to the seriousness of the situation. Both he and Hadji had appreciated their concern, but eventually they had been forced to insist that they be allowed to see their father. Jonny remembered being led down that long hospital corridor to the room at the far end and thinking to himself that after what they had just been through, both of them were prepared for anything. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Benton Quest had always been an active man . . . in good physical shape and with a mind that never seemed to quit. His laughter was quick and joyful and his face animated. The man that lay in that room was a stranger . . . a shell that looked vaguely similar to his father . . . and that was all. The body was emaciated and lifeless, much like a wax statue, and wires and tubes connected him to the machines that were the only things keeping him alive. They beeped steadily, their sound seeming to mock him because he wasn't capable of doing even those basic, life-sustaining functions for himself any longer. There was nothing of the man Jonny loved so much in that bed. He remembered hearing Hadji moan and turn away as he said to Race, "That's not my father." When Race reached out to lay a hand on his arm, he had jerked away, his voice shrill and panicky as he insisted, "It's _not!_ It **can't** be! It _**can't . . .**_" But it was, and even as he had denied it, there was a little voice in his head that kept insisting over and over, _You have to face reality. He's gone . . ._ And finally, it added, _I caused this . . ._

He sat forward abruptly, jerking himself away from that memory. Pulling the phone to him, he dialed swiftly, his hand shaking just slightly, and then listened to the beeps, pops, and soft hiss as the signal moved through the various circuits, making its way to the other side of the globe. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, resting his head against the soft padding and breathing in a deep, calming rhythm just as the phone on the other end began to ring.

"Hello?"

Jonny didn't even open his eyes at the sound of the slightly hesitant, light voice. "Hello, Hemant. Is the Lady Jessica there?"

The boy was quick, Jonny would give him that. "She is down the hallway with the Sultana, Lord. Do you wish me to get her for you?"

"If you would. I'd like to talk with her."

"Yes, Lord." There was a soft thump as he laid the phone down and then Jonny could hear his footsteps crossing the floor, followed by the soft sound of a door being pulled open. Then for a while, the only sound he could hear was the distant, hollow hum of the open line. The edges of reality were beginning to go fuzzy as he drifted into a light doze when a gentle, much loved voice blew the shroud of fog away again.

"Hey, angel. You still there?"

"I'm here," he said as the familiar feeling of contentment replaced the unease and grief that hovered so close to the surface. "How're you?"

"Just fine. And you?"

"Tired. How 'bout Kefira?"

The pause before she responded was just long enough for Jonny to know she questioned his response to her question. "She's fine, too. Recovering well. She's on the phone with Hadji at the moment."

"Oh yeah? I wonder where he is. I'm using the phone in the study."

"You're back home then. Means he's probably out in the lab."

"Could be. We spent most of the afternoon out there. I thought he'd come back in, but who knows." "When did you get in?"

"'Bout one."

"Who there? Dad? Mom?" There was a slight pause. "Dr. Quest?"

"Uh huh. Everyone but your new baby sister. Hadji and I both took the time to run up to the neonatal ward to see her before we left. Boy is she tiny. A cutie, though. Whole head full of hair."

"Really? What color?"

"Kind of a strawberry blonde, but Estella says that may change. Race is pretty besotted. I get the feeling he's going to be racking up some mileage on the vehicles for a while."

"I'll bet." He could hear the smile in her voice and the corners of his mouth quirked up in response. Her next question drove the smile away.

"How's your dad?"

"Bad."

"How bad?"

"Doctors want to turn off the life support. And if we do that, he'll die."

"Oh, angel . . ."

"We won't let them, though. Not yet. I'm not ready to admit that there's nothing that can be done for him."

"So what's the plan?"

"Hadji spent the afternoon going through his notes and we reviewed all of the tapes IRIS had kept of the work he'd done. Dr. Mason was right. He hadn't gotten very far. He'd managed to clarify the progression of the illness, so he knew what to expect, but that's about all. And most of that came from analysis of the British Health Service records. We can't find any notes on the analysis of the chip itself or how it operated. Seems strange. You would have thought that would have been the first place he'd start."

"But don't I remember Dad telling me that he didn't have any of that information? That Dr. Quest had destroyed all of Dr. Smallwood's research back when the whole thing happened?"

Jonny's eyes snapped open. "He did? I'm not sure I knew that. That might explain why we can't find anything."

"Ask Dad, but I'm just sure that's what he told me. And I'd think it would be really tough to reconstruct what Smallwood did if they didn't have any of his fundamental research to know where to start. And I _am_ certain he told me they didn't have one of the chips."

"Tell me something. If this were you, where would you start looking for answers."

"Well, if conditions were ideal, I'd start with an analysis of the chip and how it worked."

Jonny chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Well, it had two electrodes that were inserted into the back of the neck between the second and third vertebrae, up near the base of the skull. The chip then emitted a series of electrical impulses that were picked up by the spinal cord and transmitted to certain regions of the brain . . . in Smallwood's scenario, those areas that controlled the more placid, calm emotions . . . so that people remained pleasant and even-tempered all of the time. The signal that Darcy added triggered the sites for aggression and uncontrollable rage. Those signals came through as a carrier wave piggybacked on Smallwood's signal."

"That's amazing! How do you know all of this?"

"I got my hands on one of the things. Plugged it into IRIS and had her analyze it in QuestWorld. It was pretty scary stuff."

There was strong excitement in Jessie's voice as she exclaimed, "But Jonny, that's the missing piece! That's what Dr. Quest didn't have. Do you still have that analysis?"

He sat up slowly. "Yeah, probably. IRIS would have saved it to the mainframe and I've certainly never purged it."

"Find it! Let Hadji see it. This may be exactly the clue you need!"

"I'll go out to the lab right now! Then we can start the analysis and maybe -"

"Wait a minute. Right now? What time is it there? Isn't it after midnight?"

Jonny peered at the clock. "Yeah. Close to two, actually."

Jessie sighed in exasperation. "Look, I know you're excited about this, but you need to get some sleep."

"I slept last night -"

"Sleep is something you're supposed to do _daily_, Quest . . . not once or twice a week. This is getting to be a really bad habit, you know."

"I'm okay, Jess. I'll just -"

"- go in and go to bed. Right now. You need to be rested to tackle this problem. If you go into it exhausted, you'll miss stuff . . . important stuff. You promise me, Jonathan Quest, or I swear, as soon as you hang up the phone, I'll call my dad."

"Jess -"

"I mean it! You promise me, Jon." Then her voice soften and took on a wheedling tone. "Pleeeaaase? I worry about you, particularly when I'm not there to take care of you."

Jonny smiled in the dark. "I love you, you know that?"

"I think you've mentioned it once or twice. Go to bed, angel. I'll talk to you again tomorrow."

"All right. You having any trouble over there?"

"No. Just dealing with bureaucracy. I hate bureaucracy."

He laughed softly. "I should let you get back to Kefira. Tell her I said 'hi'."

"I will. Tell Hadji I'm thinking of him."

"Will do."

"You're going to go straight to bed, right?"

"I'm going. I'm going."

"I love you," she whispered to him. "Good night." And then with a soft click, the connection was broken. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Jonny was swearing to himself in an assortment of languages when Hadji and Race showed up in the lab at 7:30 the next morning.

"Damn it, I know I didn't delete it. I _know_ I didn't. Where the hell could it have gone?"

"Jonny?"

"Problem, kiddo?"

"I can't _find_ it!" he snarled in frustration.

"Find what?" Hadji asked.

"The analysis of Smallwood's data chip."

_**"What????"**_ Race exclaimed. "You have an analysis of that data chip?"

"Well, I _did_. Now I can't find it. When was the last time Dad purged files from the mainframe?"

Race ran a hand through his hair. "I have no idea." He paused, thinking about it for a minute. Then he continued, "He'd been pretty busy during the last six to twelve months, particularly after both of you left. I doubt he'd done any housecleaning recently."

Hadji threw himself into the chair next to Jonny. "Then it must be here someplace. What was it called? I _need_ that file, Jonny."

"I know. I know. I'm trying! I think I just named it Smallwood. Or maybe Wychford. It's been over five years! I don't really remember. IRIS, are you sure you checked all of the active directories? Including any subdirectories?"

"AFFIRMATIVE. THERE ARE NO FILES IN ANY ACTIVE SUBDIRECTORY ON THE QUEST MAINFRAME WITH EITHER TITLE, OR ANY FILE WITH A COMBINATION OF THE SEARCH WORDS."

"Have you tried a similarity search?" Hadji demanded. "Maybe you abbreviated it in some way."

"Yes. Nothing. IRIS, do the same search on the inactive directories. Also, include all program file directories, too. Maybe the damned thing got misfiled or accidentally moved."

"WORKING . . . SEARCH COMPLETE. THERE ARE NO FILES IN ANY SUBDIRECTORY ON THE QUEST MAINFRAME THAT FITS THE SPECIFIED SEARCH PARAMETERS."

"Damn!"

"Hi. How's it coming?" Barbara asked, wandering into the lab.

"Wait a minute," Race suddenly exclaimed. "A couple of years ago, wasn't there was some kind of problem with the archival storage on the mainframe?"

"Yes," Hadji agreed. "About two years ago. A storm and an unexpectedly large power surge caused by lightning overwhelmed the surge protectors and circuit breakers, causing some problems. No data was lost, but we had a difficult time retrieving some of it because the file allocation tables had been disrupted."

"I remember that," Jonny said thoughtfully. "Dad was half-crazed because some of the data for a major 10-year project that was almost finished had been among the stuff that got lost. What about it?"

"Didn't you end up having to write some of that stuff to another medium to get it back."

"Yes, but then it was all written back to the mainframe once we had reformatted the sector drive that had been damaged."

"Not all of it," Race corrected. "I remember Benton telling me that he needed to keep all of the data on that project together so that he could back it all up again, just to be safe. And with all of the data that needed to be added to what was recovered, he was concerned about space on that particular sector drive. I'm sure he told me that when he reloaded the data, he only did it selectively."

"Are you saying that we've got some stuff written off to archive media that's _not_ automatically accessible to IRIS right now?" Jonny demanded.

"Yes. There's about twelve full CD archive disks . . . you know, the big ones your Dad developed for long-term permanent storage? They're down in the vault."

"Where?"

"Just sit still. I'll get them." Registering Barbara's presence for the first time, Race said, "Oh . . . morning, Barbara." Then he disappeared down the spiral staircase.

"Morning, Dr. Mason," Jonny said with a smile.

"You all seem very excited this morning. Do you have some good news?"

"Perhaps," Hadji replied with cautious optimism. "Jonny says he has an analysis of Dr. Smallwood's data chip." In that instant, he sounded closer to happy than anyone had heard from him in days.

Excitement and hope flared in Barbara's eyes. "You do? But that's what Benton kept saying he needed!"

Hadji shook his head. "He must have forgotten that there was one somewhere in the system."

"No," Jonny corrected. "I'm not sure he even knew it was there. I did it right before I found out that Darcy's people had put one of those things on him. I took the chip off of the hotelkeeper's dog and had IRIS run the analysis. He wasn't involved and I don't know that I ever told him I'd done it. I saved the file to the portable laptop and IRIS would have automatically downloaded it to storage as part of the daily maintenance schedule."

"You are certain it got transferred back here?"

"I'm positive. I saw it once when we were working on deleting files for Dad. I remember thinking about getting rid of it, but something stopped me. Instead, I shunted it off to a long term holding folder in my personal subdirectory and forgot about it."

"And IRIS moves files around to maximize archival storage after a file hasn't been opened for a certain length of time," Hadji added thoughtfully. "So it could have ended up in the area that was lost for a time."

"We'll hope."

"Here they are," Race said, returning with his hands full. He handed the items over to Jonny, who crossed to a console on the far side of the room and began loading the silver disks into a carousel specifically designed to hold them.

After a few moments, he returned to his chair, turned back to his screen and said, "Okay, IRIS. Access the external media loaded in CD drive EA and run the same search. If you locate the file, load it to QuestWorld and hold for further instructions.

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING." They all waited with bated breath while IRIS searched through the myriad of files. "QUESTWORLD GRAPHICS SIMULATION 'SMALLWOOD' HAS BEEN LOCATED AND TRANSFERRED TO MAIN SYSTEM. SIMULATION LOADED AND READY TO RUN. HOLDING FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS."

_**"YES!"**_ Jonny exclaimed. Spinning in his chair he stood and crossed to Barbara Mason. Taking her hands, he looked at her seriously. "I really need your help with this. I know it's a lot to ask, but can I ask you to view this simulation with me so that you can tell us what this thing is doing . . . medically speaking, I mean?"

"Of course! Jon, you know you don't even have to ask."

"Yes I do, because this is like nothing you've ever done before." He took a deep breath. "You know that a lot of what my Dad works on is highly sensitive, right?" Watching him intently, she nodded. "Well, much of it is stuff that the rest of the world knows nothing about. He's afraid of what uses it might be put to if it was made available." Jonny glanced quickly from Hadji to Race, but neither of them seemed inclined to raise any objections to what he was about to do, so he continued. "IRIS is one of those systems."

"Your computer?"

"IRIS is a whole lot more than a computer. She's what's called a fully integrated virtual reality system. It was what Richard Baxter was after last Christmas, although I don't think even he realized the extent of it. What I want to do is take you with me into the virtual reality environment where we can take a look at the chip and how it worked."

"All right," Barbara replied. 

"I'll be with you the entire time. You don't need to worry."

She smiled at him suddenly. "I trust you, Jon. If you say this is important and that I'll be safe, then I'm not worried. Just tell me what to do."

He squeezed her hands gently and shook his head. "I swear, my father has to be densest human being on the face of this planet. He better not blow things with you, that's all I can say." Before she could think of how to respond to that, he turned away and crossed the room to a storage cabinet. Pulling out two headsets, he carried them back to her and then led her to one of the lounging chairs in the middle of the room. "Sit down here, lean back, and relax. This goes on like a pair of glasses. There. Are they comfortable?"

"Yes, it's fine."

"Good." Donning the second headset, Jonny settled into the chair next to Barbara. "Okay, Hadji, log us in. But bring us up into the gateway rather than into the program itself."

"Very well. QuestWorld logon, subjects Jonny Quest and Barbara Mason. Going hot in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . ."

The headset flared to life and Jonny felt the familiar disorientation as the black and green wormhole formed before his eyes and he began the spiraling descent into the program. Beside him, he heard Barbara gasp involuntarily and he reached out and caught her hand.

"It's okay. It will steady in just a second. Hang on."

Even as he said it, the feeling of motion ceased and the familiar lime green on black gridwork that marked the gateway into QuestWorld formed around them. Jonny turned to look at his companion. Barbara Mason's vectorized form stood less than six inches away. As usual, IRIS had done an outstanding job and visually, the woman appeared almost exactly as she did in real life. Her shoulder-length dark hair even had the same soft traces of silver. He noted idly that the accent colors on her QuestWorld outfit had come through as a warm shade of dark rose, a color he'd often seen her wearing. It suited her. Glancing down at himself, he sighed.

"What?" Race demanded immediately, his voice seeming to echo around them.

"Orange. Why orange? I _hate_ orange."

They could hear Hadji laugh. "One day we will figure out why IRIS changes your accent color every time you enter."

"And she chooses such god-awful colors, too. I swear, she hates me."

As if Race could read Jonny's desire to keep a bit of light-hearted banter going to provide Barbara with some time to get her equilibrium back, he snorted. "You know that's not possible. But if it were, it wouldn't be any less than you deserve. Considering the number of times you've blown this system up with some harebrained patch or program, I'd say it would be poetic justice." 

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Rub it in."

"This is amazing!" Barbara said, wandering away toward one of the nearby walls. Reaching out, she touched it experimentally. It appeared to give under the pressure of her touch, warping outward. "I can actually _feel_ it! And you say this doesn't really exist?"

"That is not precisely true," Hadji's disembodied voice replied. "There are some theorists who argue that if you can perceive something, then in that space and time, it is real. If that is the case, then what occurs in QuestWorld is real . . . at least for that period of time in which it exists."

"My, aren't we getting philosophical this morning?" Jonny teased his brother.

"Oh, shut up," Hadji grumbled good-naturedly, which caused all of them to laugh.

"This really is all virtual," Jonny explained. "And because it's an integrated environment and you are actually placed inside of it, you don't have the problem with sensory overload or disorientation that you get with a lot of stuff you see in the marketplace. And we write programs specifically to run in the environment. Or, in the case of the Smallwood program, I plugged the chip into one of IRIS' sensors, and she triggered the thing to run, demonstrating how it worked. Then she created a graphic simulation and extracted it so that we can actually enter the program and watch the chip operate. Ready to go?"

"Absolutely! This is just incredible!"

Jonny grinned, delighted at her enthusiastic fascination with his father's greatest achievement. "IRIS, give me one large hoverboard, please." The requested item materialized in front of him and Jonny stepped onto it easily. Holding out a hand to Barbara, he added, "Come on up." Without hesitation, she climbed onto the board right in front of him.

"Okay, I've got you," he assured her, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her shoulders securely back against his chest. "Just lean back into me and let me take care of guiding us. IRIS, launch graphic simulation 'Smallwood' now."

Almost immediately, the room around them disappeared, reforming into a seemingly empty black void. Then, off in the distance, something flashed and Jonny immediately set off in the direction of the light. As they drew closer, they began to see what looked like a large ovoid structure on a stalk. Steady currents of energy flowed up the stalk and suffused into the attached structure, causing it to pulse with light. It took a moment for Barbara to register what she was seeing.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed suddenly. "That's a -"

"Brain. Yeah, I know," Jonny said grimly. "Hadji, you gettin' this?"

"Yes," Hadji replied, sounding as astonished and fascinated as Barbara.

"I need to get closer," she said, trying to lean forward on the hoverboard so she could see better.

Obligingly, Jonny sent the hoverboard sailing toward the image before them.

"The current must be the normal electrical impulses of the brain," she said in excitement. "See the way they travel up the spinal column and then diffuse across and through the tissue?" Abruptly, a crackling bolt of lightning erupted from the base of the brain and enveloped it in a fine net of radiant white energy. As they watched, the net shifted from pure white to a dull orange, and finally to a deep, angry red.

"What is that?" Barbara demanded. "That's not right!"

"That's Smallwood's tampering," Jonny replied grimly. "The white net was his signal. It was the one that triggered the pleasant, docile behavior in the subjects."

"And the orange and red?"

"The orange was caused when Darcy activated his carrier wave. It piggybacked on Smallwood's signal and interacted with it, bringing the subjects under his control. When he turned it up, overriding Smallwood's programming, so he could turn the subjects into a violent mob, the net turned red."

"This . . . this . . . I can't . . . it's an _abomination!_"

"You'll get no argument from me. Can you tell what it's doing? Or what damage it's causing?"

Suppressing her gut reactions ruthlessly, she leaned forward again, staring at the simulation intently. "IRIS, are the foreign impulses we're seeing electrical or some other form of energy?"

"THEY ARE ELECTRICAL."

"What kind of voltage?"

"THE CHIP APPEARS TO BE PROGRAMMABLE ACCORDING TO THE TYPE OF LIVING CREATURE ON WHICH IT IS INSTALLED. ASSUMING IT OPERATES CONSISTENLY ON EACH DIFFERENT SUBJECT, THE STRENGTH APPEARS TO BE EQUIVALENT TO NORMAL BRAIN IMPULSES. HOWEVER, IT SHOULD BE NOTED THAT THERE IS A STRENGTH RANGE INHERENT IN THE CHIP ONCE IT IS SET FOR THE INDIVIDUAL WHO WEARS IT."

"So he could strengthen or weaken the force of the command," she said thoughtfully.

"That would make sense, wouldn't it?" Jonny asked. "I mean, it would probably take more force to get someone to do something they would be unwilling to do normally . . ."

Barbara glanced over at Jonny. "Like forcing a man to try to kill his own son?"

Jonny cleared his throat. "Uh . . . yeah . . . something like that."

"Yes, I would think that would take quite a bit more." She stared at the simulation with intense concentration, thinking out loud. "The disruption of the normal electrical activity could cause a breakdown of the receptor sites within the brain, but that should have shown up as a chemical imbalance or a change in the activity pattern in the EEG, but it didn't. And there was no tissue damage. It's also possible it could have altered the transmitter sites' receptivity to normal impulses, but it that's the case, why did it take so long to show up?"

She looked up at Jonny suddenly. "You said this _wasn't_ the chip that had been fitted on Benton?"

"No. This one was on Winston, the innkeeper's dog."

"Did you run this same analysis on the chip that had been on Benton?"

Jonny shook his head. "No. I yanked that one off in the middle of a fight. He came out of it immediately, but we still had the entire town chasing us. By the time things settled down, we'd disabled Darcy's transmitter, the townspeople had come back to their senses, and the police were on the scene. It didn't seem like there was any reason to go any further, particularly since Dad wanted Smallwood's work destroyed."

She stared thoughtfully at the simulation for a long time. Finally, she sighed. "I don't know. I think I need to do some research and think about this for a while."

"We're done here, then?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Okay. Hadji, log us off, would ya?"

"Logging off."

A moment later, the simulated world around her disappeared and Barbara blinked, bringing the lighthouse lab back into focus as Race gently removed the headset. She looked around, a bit dazed. "Good heavens . . ."

Race chuckled. "You do get used to it after a while. And as you can imagine, the kids love it."

"Oh, I'll bet they do. Good thing that system isn't on the market. I know a lot of parents who would _never_ get their kids out of it!"

"Another good reason to keep quiet about it," Race said. Eyeing her apologetically, he added, "I'm sure I don't need to say this, but -"

"Don't worry. I won't say a word. I recognized a long time ago that anything I see or hear here goes no further."

Race smiled and squeezed her hand gently. "Thanks. Now, you said you needed to do some research. If you don't mind, we'll head back to the house. I really don't want to leave Stel over there by herself for too long. Mrs. Evans is there, but she won't be able to control my wife if she gets it into her head to do something she shouldn't. You can work in Benton's study."

"Actually, I was planning on using the study," Jonny said apologetically. When Race looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. "Somebody needs to take a look at the ongoing projects Dad's supposed to be working on. Some of them may require action, and for those that can be postponed, we need to notify people that we have a problem." He glanced at Hadji. "I can handle the review of the timetables and allocation of resources, but I'm outta my league on the actual experimentation and the science."

Hadji nodded. "Review the projects and any that appear to need action you can forward to me out here. I will review Father's project notes and deal with the next stage of the research."

"Good. On those we can postpone, I'll contact the sponsor, let them know Dad's sick, and find out if they want to pull the contract, have us subcontract, or wait for a while to see what happens."

"You know about Father's project hot file?"

"Is that the one with all the urgent stuff in it?" Hadji nodded. "Yeah. I'll start with there and work my way outward. Anything you know about specifically?"

"You might check on that project for Langley that Father finished up last Christmas. I believe Dr. Meyerson contacted Father several weeks ago with a request to run additional tests on some of the earlier samples. I do not know if that ever got done."

"Will do." Turning back to Race and Barbara, he said, "We can set you up to use the work station in Dad's room, Dr. Mason. If that's okay?"

"That will be fine. It will also allow me to keep an eye on Benton."

"Great. We might as well get this show on the road. You ready?" 

Race looked at him without moving for a long moment, then said quietly, "Your father would be very proud of you right now . . . both of you."

Hadji looked away, taking a hard breath, as grief twisted Jonny's face. Then his expression hardened with determination and he shook his head. "Dad always told me that anything was possible as long as you wanted it badly enough and were willing to work for it. Our father _isn't_ going to die. We'll find a way out of this, one way or the other."


	55. Chapter 55

**

Chapter Fifty-five

**

  


The following days blurred together as Hadji and Barbara worked day and night, searching for the key to the problem. Theories were suggested, modeled, tested, and discarded one after the other. Over Race's strident protests, Estella joined the research team after the second day, and even Jonny worked in the lab, using all of the discipline he had learned in six months of working full time to remain focused on the task at hand. But even the knowledge of how the chip operated didn't seem to be enough to give them the answer.

"I don't know what to do, Jess," Jonny said in quiet desperation six days later. "Dr. Mason has tried everything she can think of, but nothing has worked. Hadji's gotten so discouraged that he's all but given up." He drew a hard breath. "And last night, Race brought up the subject of Dad's living will again."

Jessie sighed softly as she stared at the patch of sunlight on the mosaic tile floor of her room in the palace. _What do I say to him,_ she asked herself. _How can I make him feel less helpless?_ In her heart she knew that her father wouldn't have brought up the subject of Dr. Quest's will again if he wasn't convinced there was nothing left that could be done. And yet she also knew that Jonny simply couldn't let go of the idea that there was a solution - they just hadn't found it yet.

"Dr. Mason has _no_ idea what's going on?"

"No. She says it's as though his mind's been turned off. We did find something a little strange yesterday, but neither Dr. Mason nor Hadji know what to make of it."

"What was it?"

Jonny shrugged in the darkness even though she couldn't see the gesture. "Dr. Mason wanted to know if IRIS could show her Dad's normal brain activity."

"She learns quick," Jessie observed. "She's seen QuestWorld in action how many times?"

"Once."

"So were you able to do it?"

"In a way." He was quiet for a long time.

Finally, Jessie prompted softly, "Jonny?"

"We put Dad on the mobile life support, took him out to the lab, and logged him into QuestWorld," he finally replied. His voice sounded choked as he continued hesitantly, "His QuestWorld personality just stood there, totally unresponsive. When I-I asked IRIS to d-d-display his brain activity -" he voice cracked and Jessie could hear the tears he fought to suppress as he said, "T-T-The simulation was like a d-d-drawing, Jess. There was nothing . . . not even a flicker. I couldn't . . ." His voice broke again and this time he couldn't continue.

Jessie's eyes closed against the tears that rose up at the sound of his pain. _If only I could be there,_ she though desperately. _Maybe I couldn't do anything to help Dr. Quest, but at least I could be there to comfort Jonny._ For an instant, she considered taking Kefira up on her offer to return to Maine. But then she remembered the dark circles around Kefira's eyes and the strained and exhausted look Jessie had seen on her face this morning and she shook her head. No, Kefira needed her, so she was committed to this for as long as Hadji had to be away. She had no choice.

"You said 'strange'," she prompted gently. "While the visible evidence of his lack of brain activity must have been hard, it can't have been totally unexpected. So what was strange?"

It took a minute before he could answer. "It was Dr. Mason who noticed it . . . a dull glow around the simulation of Dad's brain. It was almost as if someone was backlighting it. As I said . . . strange. No one has any idea what it is. I figure it's probably being caused by the way IRIS is reading his brain activity."

Jessie frowned, considering what Jonny had told her. "I don't know. That doesn't sound like something IRIS would do. You know that her simulations are derived by reading the electrical impulses of our brain activity. It's the reason why Dr. Quest seemed so lifeless. She wouldn't be generating that unless there was some sort of activity."

"Could it be caused by the life support equipment?"

"I wouldn't think so. Yes, the heart monitor generates an electrical pulse to keep his heart going, but unless the signal was transmitted by his brain, IRIS wouldn't pick it up. That's one of the failsafes in her QuestWorld translator program. If she picked up and tried to translate every electrical impulse in the body, she'd overload."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm not sure." She was silent for a long time. "You know," she said slowly, "I wonder if it might be residual."

"What do you mean?"

"IRIS uses the electrical impulses generated by our brains and translates them into actions in QuestWorld, right?"

"Yeah. She reads them through sensors in the chairs and via the headsets. So?"

"So if those are the impulses she uses to generate the image, and Dr. Quest has no brain activity, then how is it you were able to log him in to start with?"

"The sensors in the chair."

"IRIS doesn't rescan the body structure every time you log on. That's the reason you have to specify the users when you logon to the system. She only does a full body scan when you logon for the first time or when the system's been rebooted."

"That's right," Jonny said thoughtfully. "I'd forgotten that. Which means that the persona that appeared in QuestWorld wasn't Dad at all . . . just IRIS' stored image of him." Suddenly, he sounded even more devastated than he had moments before. "That means he really is gone."

"Hang on! Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe this won't get us anywhere, but let's follow this train of thought through and see where it leads us. IRIS loaded the standard persona into QuestWorld and then couldn't get a reading on activity, so his QuestWorld self remained immobile, right?"

"Yeah."

"So does that say that the _glow_ was part of the saved persona too?"

"It would almost have to be, wouldn't it?"

"I think so. But I don't know that that means," she admitted.

"Well, let's see if we can find out. IRIS, do you have a saved simulation that includes my father?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

"How old is it?"

"THERE ARE TWELVE SIMULATIONS STORED IN CURRENT MEMORY THAT INCLUDE DR. QUEST. THEY RANGE IN AGE FROM SIX MONTHS AND EIGHT DAYS TO THREE YEARS, TWO MONTHS, AND SEVENTEEN DAYS."

"All right, load the most recent one. Then display the brain activity of Dad at the time of the simulation."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING." The computer monitor set into the surface of the desk flashed to life and a moment later the simulation appeared. It was one Jonny didn't recognize. It ran for a few seconds before it disappeared and was replaced by the image of a brain. The characteristic energy pattern rippled up and down the spinal cord and through the brain tissue. Jonny started at the screen wordlessly, his sense of helplessness growing at his inability to find a way to trigger that activity in his father today.

"What do you see, Jonny? Is the glow there?"

"No," he said heavily. "Everything looks just fi - **OH MY GOD!!!**"

"What? What is it?"

"But it _**can't**_ be!"

"Jonny, what's wrong???"

"IRIS, load the next oldest simulation and repeat the process," Jonny demanded urgently.

_**"JONNY!"**_

"Hang on. Give me a minute . . . speed it up, IRIS. I want to see - . . . _Son of a - . . ._ The next one, IRIS . . . run all twelve of them in order . . ."

Jessie sat in agonized impatience, waiting for the twelve simulations to run. _**Please** let this be a break of some kind,_ she prayed silently.

"THAT IS THE LAST STORED SIMULATION INCLUDING DR. BENTON QUEST IN ACTIVE STORAGE. DO YOU WISH ME TO SEARCH ONLINE ARCHIVE RECORDS?"

"No," Jonny replied dully. "Shut it down, IRIS. I don't want to see any more."

The silence stretched until Jessie couldn't stand it any more. "What did you see, Jon? Tell me!"

"I - I don't . . . how could . . ."

"Take a deep breath and just tell me, angel."

"It was Smallwood's signal . . . it's still there and active. The more recent the simulation, the more frequent it is."

"But . . . but how can that be?" Jessie demanded, bewildered. "The chip was destroyed."

"I don't know, but it's true all the same."

Sudden fear gripped Jessie and she snapped, "IRIS, locate a simulation that includes Jon Quest and run the same analysis. Is there any sign of the signal in his brain activity?"

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING . . . ANALYSIS COMPLETE. SIMULATION OF JONATHAN QUEST SHOWS NO SIGN OF THE FOREIGN SIGNAL."

Jessie sagged, almost sick, as the rigid tension that had gripped her suddenly eased. "Thank you, God," she whispered softly.

"There's no point, is there?" Jonny asked, sounding numb and defeated. "Somehow, just removing the chip wasn't enough to eliminate the signal and it has killed him."

**"NO!!!"** Jessie responded sharply, trying to get him to focus again. "Don't you quit now, Jonathan Quest. This discovery is important . . . it's the first honest lead you've had. Don't give up just because the answer isn't coming easily."

"But what good does this do us?" he asked despairingly. "All it says is that however it happened, the signal was never eliminated and continued to do damage from the beginning. There's no way we can go back that far and fix this."

"The worst thing you can do right now is jump to conclusions. Just hang in there. You don't know what this means. Show the simulations to Hadji and Dr. Mason and see where the research leads."

Finally, he sighed. "Yeah. You're right. I'll tell Hadji and Dr. Mason in the morning and see what they say."

Jessie paused for a moment, then said gently, "You know, angel, there's always one final option . . ."

"No, there isn't," Jonny said bitterly. "I know exactly what you're going to say, but that door's already been slammed shut in our faces."

"But why? We've used it successfully in the past," she argued. "We could do it again."

"I know we could. But it seems my dad knows me too well. According to Race, in one of his last really lucid moments, he made Race promise that he wouldn't allow any of us to use the Rachel program to go back in time to try to change this. He said that there would be too many significant changes to history that would result, and we weren't to tamper with the past to try to save his life."

"Damn! But surely . . ."

"I've argued with Race until I'm hoarse, but he's totally immoveable on this point. He won't let us try it."

"Then we do it the hard way," Jessie told him determinedly. "Don't give up, angel. We aren't beaten yet."

Jessie waited, listening closely. Finally, Jonny sighed deeply and blew his nose. "I know. We can't quit now. I'm sorry."

"S'okay. You're entitled to get disheartened. Have you been eating and sleeping?"

Jonny snorted. "Its not like Hadji and I have a choice. Estella has made it her personal campaign to make sure we get some sleep every night. In fact, I'm surprised she isn't beating down the study door right now, trying to pack me off to bed. And Mrs. Evans is just as bad when it comes to eating. She's constantly shoving food at us. Says that moving away from home has been bad for us and we've gotten too skinny."

"Good. It makes me feel better to know that someone's looking out for you. And on that note, I'm going to send you off to bed. You're tired, angel. I can hear it in your voice. Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
"But that cannot be possible," Hadji protested at the breakfast table the next morning. "If the chip was destroyed . . ." 

"Is it possible that there's a physical remnant of it someplace in his system?" Barbara questioned.

"No," Jonny responded with surety. "It was fully intact when I removed it."

"There's no chance you're being subjected to the same thing, is there?' Estella demanded, grabbing at Jonny's shoulder as she passed behind him. He turned in his chair and put an arm around her waist, hugging her reassuringly.

"You and Jessie think so much alike. That was the first question she asked IRIS last night when we discovered this. The answer is 'no'. I'm showing no evidence of it."

"Thank God," Estella said thankfully, returning his hug. "We couldn't stand to lose both of you."

Barbara sank slowly into her chair, staring at the dishes on the dining room table blindly and with intense concentration. Jonny watched her silently for a long time, recognizing the expression on her face. Something was coming together for her. He raised his hand for quiet and allowed her the time to sort through the ideas in her mind. Finally, he reached across the table and caught her hand, asking softly, "What are you thinking, Dr. Mason?" She jumped slightly and blinked at him.

"There's a therapy I've heard of," she said slowly. "One that's based on a theory that may explain what we're seeing here. I don't know it if will offer any solutions, but it may go to causation, which is progress."

"So what is it?" Race demanded. "Tell us."

"Well, the idea is that repeated stimuli, like stressful situations or strong emotions can cause the formation of fixed electrical pathways in the brain. Once established, these pathways can be tripped by stimuli other than those that originally created them. The theory is that once the pathways are firmly established, any action that triggers the pathway to become active causes a cascade reaction in the brain, and results in a conditioned response."

"I do not understand," Hadji said.

"The idea was first offered by a group of psychologists who specialize in treating post-traumatic shock syndrome in Vietnam War veterans. They claimed that in cases where seemingly stable vets suddenly suffered breakdowns and began believing they were back in the jungles of Vietnam were examples of this phenomenon. Initially, they were treated as quacks, but as more and more cases of it were documented, they began to gain some credibility."

"I've heard of this," Race commented, leaning forward with interest. "It's not just war veterans that suffer from this sort of thing. I've seen it first hand in agents who've worked deep undercover for too long."

Barbara nodded. "Almost anyone who is subjected to high stress that follows a consistent pattern could develop it. Some years after I first read about the work with the veterans, I saw another article in one of my medical journals about it. This time it was from a group of clinical psychologists who specialized in working with cases of severe depression in teenagers. They claimed that their clinical observation showed that young people who suffered from severe clinical depression all showed the very same distinct and consistent pattern of symptoms and behaviors. The behavior patterns differed from individual to individual, but the pattern of their appearance for each particular subject was remarkably consistent and cyclic. They also noted that certain stimuli . . . whether the subject was in a particularly bad state of depression or not . . . could not only trigger the onset of a depressive cycle, but could do it consistently. These researchers believed that many of their subjects had been suffering from depression for some time and that during the early years before anyone diagnosed the condition, a specific set of neural pathways developed. By the time their condition was diagnosed, it was possible to set off a depressive cycle simply by triggering the neural pathway. Think of it in terms of rain . . . water running over a soft, flat surface. Eventually it will erode a channel for itself so that when it rains again, the water will inevitably run the same course over and over until a river develops. The concept is very similar."

"And once the water starts down the channel, it doesn't stop until it reaches the end," Estella said thoughtfully.

"Exactly."

"And you believe something like that happened to Father?" Hadji asked.

"I think it's possible," Barbara replied cautiously. "At least it makes some sense. We already know that the electrical impulses created by Smallwood's chip and Darcy's modifications triggered certain emotional responses in people who wore them. I think that if they had made the signal too strong, all it would have done is overwhelm the neural synapses in the brain and the subject would have been unable to function at all . . . 'fried the circuits' if you will. But back it off just enough and it would course through the normal neural pathways much as high water does in a river channel. And because both Darcy and Smallwood were going for the same basic emotions, the pathway the signal took would consistently be the same."

"But the emotions they were trying to trigger were quite different," Hadji protested.

"No, they were exact _opposites_," Jonny corrected. "Placid, friendly, and docile on the one hand and vicious, violent, and angry on the other. They were just opposing ends of the exact same emotions."

Barbara nodded. "And that just reinforces my point. The neural pathway would have been exactly the same."

"I see what you're getting at," Jonny said. "You think that by the time I got the chip off of Dad, the neural pathway had already been created. And that something in his normal environment began triggering a cascade reaction in his brain, causing the various behaviors and physical symptoms we all observed. Okay, I'll buy that up to a point. But why did it take so long to develop?"

"Who knows? It could be any number of reasons. One of the things the researchers who advanced this theory are trying to do with their patients is to find a way to circumvent or derail the cascade reaction. They've had some success with teaching their subjects to recognize the very early signals that warn of an eminent onset and implement behaviors that will shift the electrical impulses in the brain away from the cascade trigger. By preventing the activation of the neural pathway, the depressive cycle never gets started. Maybe Benton had those avoidance behaviors already in place, but over the course of the five years since the incident, changes have occurred that caused his ability to implement those behaviors to break down."

"Like what?" Estella asked, when Barbara paused.

Barbara looked at the four expectant faces around her and then warned, "I want you all to understand that this is sheer speculation, okay? I could be way off-base."

"Please speculate!" Jonny commanded impatiently. "This makes more sense than anything we've considered up to now. Furthermore, Dad always used to say that all great discoveries started with nothing more than wishful thinking and speculation."

"All right. This is what I think may have happened. I think it all started to break down as a result of stress . . . or to be more precise, a particular _kind_ of stress. The two of you," she said, pointing to Jonny and Hadji, "are the single most important things in Benton's life. And both of you have always excelled at getting into trouble." The two young men both looked like they wanted to dispute that observation, but chose not to say anything. "Clear back in May, when the business between Jonny and Benton exploded, all of you commented to me that Benton had seemed to be under an unusual amount of stress during the preceding months. I also know from a conversation with Race that Benton had always coped well with stress in the past, and that his primary outlet for it was working. Everyone with me so far?" They all nodded as Race rose to retrieve the coffee pot and refill cups.

"That got me thinking about stress factors and their timing. Normally, I have no idea what goes on with the lot of you when you're away from home, but I do know that the business with Smallwood occurred in the fall when Jonny was 13, right?"

"Yes," Race agreed immediately. "In early October."

"Good. Then, between October of that year and January two years later, nothing occurred that put any of you at real risk, right?"

Jonny considered that briefly and then grimaced, thinking of some of the various scrapes they had gotten into during the intervening years. "Well, there was _some_ stuff . . ." he said hesitantly.

"Was any of it a situation where Benton was forced to wait helplessly on the sidelines while you were in danger of dying? Or was he forced to watch any of you suffer and be unable to do anything about it?"

"I don't think so," Jonny replied, still sounding unsure.

"No," Hadji added with surety. "During that time, when anything went wrong, Father was right in the middle of it with us."

"So his conduit was action," Barbara said with a nod. "His coping mechanisms were still firmly in place. But during that time, the family that had given him anchorage was changing. Hadji inherited a Sultancy. Jonny and Jessie discovered the opposite sex and developed into a couple. And through it all, Benton remained more or less the same . . . his outlets were still work and his family."

"A family that appeared to be drifting away from him," Race said grimly. "And that takes us right up to the January when Jonny was 15, and we run slam into Cairo again. You know, I hope to God that Hamilton and that good-for-nothing daughter of his are both cast into the deepest, darkest pits of Hell someday."

Again Barbara nodded. "This time, when things went wrong, Benton was helpless to do anything other than just sit on the sidelines and watch. And during the next two and a half years, there were a whole series of incidents that left him in the same position, including protracted periods when he thought he'd lost one or more of you permanently. I think that somewhere during that period, his own natural defense mechanisms began to fail and the neural pathways created by Smallwood's tampering were reactivated. For a time, he was probably able to fight off the effects, but I'm betting the events of last Christmas were the final straw. He'd already been suffering from the first stages of 'empty nest syndrome'. Contrary to popular belief, it is not a phenomenon restricted to women. He and I had discussed it at Race and Estella's wedding reception -"

"What is 'empty nest syndrome'," Hadji demanded. "I have never heard of this."

"I didn't know he was having trouble with the idea of Hadji and I leaving," Jonny commented thoughtfully. "Why didn't he say something?"

Barbara snorted. "Jonny, the last thing any teenager wants to hear is that their parents don't want them to leave home. Let's face it, when Benton finally began showing open signs of it, you responded just like most every other 16-, 17- or 18-year-old I've ever known. This is one of those things that's practically universal. A child approaches the age when they're ready to give life a try on their own, and their parents' natural instinct to protect and shield them kicks in, making them reluctant to let go." She shrugged. "It's human nature."

"But Race never did that with Jess!" Jonny protested.

"The hell I didn't!" Race interjected. "I was just as bad as Benton. I've just had more practice at keeping my feelings hidden. But let me tell you something, kiddo. The two of you can be damned grateful that _**I**_ wasn't the one who caught you together in bed. Believe me, the outcome of that incident would have been a _whole_ lot different."

Jonny shifted uneasily under Race's glare. "I know," he said, sounding remarkably humble.

"The only reason my feelings never came to the surface was because about the time it really began to hit me, Estella came back into my life and she helped diffuse the situation."

"And I'd already gone through it so I was able to help Race cope," Estella added. When Race looked at her in surprise, she just shrugged. "For all intents and purposes, Jessie 'left the nest' for me when she was 13 and started spending time with you again. I went from having her with me full time, to only seeing her about half the year. By the time she left home last year, I had long since reconciled with the situation."

"At any rate," Barbara continued, "Benton was struggling with that. Then, something happened that forced him to finally stop holding on so tightly to Rachel's memory. That had to have been hard for him, too."

"He told me once that sometimes he could almost hear her talking to him," Jonny said quietly.

"Yeah," Race agreed. "I can remember times when he was struggling with a particularly hard decision - usually something to do with the kids - and I'd walk by the study to hear him talking to himself. It was always a one-sided discussion, as if he was arguing with someone. I suspected it was Rachel. They knew each other so well, that I could see him continuing to use her point of view as a sounding board."

"And he gave that up at Christmas, as well as almost losing Hadji . . ."

" . . . and being faced with blowing up the Compound, along with his entire family . . ." Estella added.

" . . . all the people that died in the fighting by systems he created . . ." Hadji contributed.

" . . . the attack on Jessie and Kefira . . ." Race said.

" . . . the partial destruction of our home . . ."

" . . . and all of this at a time when he was exhausted and his coping mechanisms were crumbling. The neural pathways became activated and he began to act strangely, doing and saying things that were totally unlike him. That caused strain within the family which just fed into the cycle, and things went from bad to worse. He discovered the truth about Jonny and Jessie and rather than dealing with it the way he normally would have, the programming took over and he went in the opposite direction, doing something underhanded instead."

"And rather than asking _why_ this was happening, when I found out what he'd done, I exploded," Jonny said bitterly. "And the angrier I got and the more I withdrew, the more pressure I put on him and the worse it got. So when it comes right down to it, it's all my fault. I caused the entire mess."

Barbara leaned forward sharply and grabbed his arm, shaking it. "You did **not** cause this, Jonny. It was inevitable. It may have taken a little longer to show up if the events since Cairo hadn't occurred, but the fact is that _everyone_ in Wychford died. That Benton's coping mechanisms were better than most only meant that the onset was delayed, not that he would have avoided it altogether."

"Laying blame is pointless anyway," Estella said firmly. "The question is, now that we have an idea of how it happened, how are we going to use the knowledge to fix the problem?"

"I don't know," Barbara replied, "but this is the first real break we've had and I'm not about to waste it. We've been searching for the reason this happened. Now I think we know. And if we're right, this has a couple of really positive implications."

"I don't see any," Jonny said sourly, still sounding angry and bitter.

"Well, for one thing, it confirms to me that there _is_ no tissue damage. If normal neural pathways were used, it's unlikely that it did any physical harm. If it had, there would be evidence of it, and there isn't. Even his natural brain chemistry is still correct."

"You have said several times that it almost appears as if his brain has been turned off," Hadji mused. "Is it possible that the increasing use of a single neural pathway could have . . ." he paused, searching for a way to explain himself. Finally, he gestured helplessly. "I do not know how to say it. The best analogy I can think of is that it 'blew a circuit breaker' in his mind."

"Yes, I think it's entirely possible."

"But what difference does it make?" Jonny demanded. "If you're right, even if we can find a way to bring him around, it will just start happening all over again."

"Not necessarily," Barbara disagreed. "I told you that I first read about this from a group who were treating Vietnam vets. These doctors claimed to have been able to teach some of their patients to recognize and derail the cycle. We'd definitely need to get a professional in here to help us, but I think it will be possible to teach Benton to recognize the signs and implement coping behaviors that will prevent the cascade reaction from getting started. At least it's more than we've had before. Come on, Hadji, we need to shift the focus of what we've been doing. Let's see if we can find some way to trigger Benton's mind back into actively functioning again." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
"But Jon, I don't understand. Don't you want them to find a way to bring your dad back?" 

"Of course I do! But I keep thinking . . . back to what, Jess? Back to a life of struggling not to do anything that will put him under stress? To having to watch everything he says or does for signs that his mind is on the brink of betraying him again? Of living with the knowledge that if he does step over that edge, his words and actions will alienate the people he cares about the most? And you know as well as I do that sooner or later, we'll be right back here again, and will have to live through all of this a second time. Where does it stop?" Jessie was silent, unable to find any words of comfort in the face of his misery. "And at the risk of sounding selfish, I really don't know if I could stand going through this again."

"So what do you want to do?"

Jonny leaned back in the leather chair and stared at the silvery patch of moonlight that shown through the huge windows that formed one wall of his father's bedroom. On the other side of the room, the rainbow of lights and numbers that marked what remained of his father's life seemed to mock him. What _did_ he want to do? He sighed wearily.

"I don't know. For a while, Hadji and Dr. Mason were re-energized by this. Both of them seemed convinced they had found the answer. But they're no further along now than they were a week ago, and they're becoming discouraged again. I can see it in their eyes. And everyone is so _tired_. I'm wondering how long we're going to be able to keep this up. And yet . . ." He sighed again. "I don't know . . . I guess I feel like we're missing something . . . something important. I just can't put my finger on it."

"Have you talked to Hadji about your feelings?"

"I've tried, but he doesn't want to hear it. He's so desperate, Jess. He doesn't even care what kind of state Dad is in, as long as he survives. I guess I can't blame him. He's lost so much . . ."

"No more than you have," she pointed out.

"It's not the same," he argued. "I mean, look at it. He lost his mother -"

"So did you. And your mother died when you were a lot younger and less able to deal with it."

"Then what about Bangalore and the Sultancy? I never had to deal with that."

"A country and a job he didn't want in the first place, and absolutely hated once he was stuck with it. If anything, getting rid of those responsibilities will be a relief to both he and Kefira."

"Okay, I'll grant you that. But all of the people that died there -"

"We _all_ had a hand in that."

The silence that followed that comment was bleak and it was a long time before Jonny managed, "I wish my dad was here. I really _need_ him right now."

Jessie made a small, comforting sound. "Maybe that's the point you're trying to make, angel. I know that Hadji needs him, too. It's probably the reason he's clinging so tenaciously to this. You both need your _father_ . . . not some echo of what he used to be. That's what Hadji doesn't see."

"Yeah, or maybe I'm wrong and he's right. Maybe it _is_ better to have some part of him than lose him completely." He laid his head back and closed his eyes, exhausted. "God, I just don't know anymore."

"Are you all right?" Jessie demanded, as something in his voice caused her to tense. "What else is wrong?"

His answer was slow in coming. "I'm okay, I guess."

"No, there's something else. What is it?"

"I'm just tired, that's all. I'm not sleeping very well right now."

"Nightmares?" she asked knowingly, thinking of her own night terrors.

"You too?"

"Yes. And Kefira."

"Hadji too. His were bad enough last night that he woke Race."

"All the way downstairs?" Jessie said incredulously, thinking of how well soundproofed the mansion was.

"No. Race and Estella have moved upstairs. They've taken over the guest room."

"So they could be closer to your dad?"

"Partially. Also so Estella wouldn't be stuck off by herself when she was restricted to bed."

"Makes sense. How _is_ Mom?"

"Just fine as far as I can tell. You probably should ask Race."

"I have, and that's what he says, too. I'm just not sure if he's saying that because it's true, or so I won't worry."

"No, I think she's okay. She's been working out in the lab with Hadji and Dr. Mason most of the time."

Jessie chuckled half-heartedly. "That's probably what's causing the tension I'm hearing in his voice when I ask about her."

A hint of a smile flickered across Jonny's face. "Probably. We should know for certain soon. She has a routine follow-up appointment with her doctor late tomorrow morning. If there's anything at all wrong, Race will have her flat in bed so fast it will make her head spin."

"You're right about that. How's Emily?"

"She's doing good. Race and Estella are hoping the doctors will be able to tell them tomorrow when they can bring her home."

"Maybe it will be soon."

"We can hope."

Silence fell between them and for a long time the only sounds either of them heard were the steady beeping of the monitors, the whoosh of the ventilator, and the empty hum of the open phone line.

"I wish you were here," Jonny said suddenly. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"I want -" He stopped abruptly, startled by the realization that suddenly struck him.

"You want what?"

"I want to go home." With infinite care, as if testing the flavor of the words, he said slowly, "I don't belong here anymore."

"That's not true, Jonny," Jessie said when she finally managed to catch her breath. "You will always belong where your family is."

"I know that. That's not what I meant."

"Then what?"

He struggled for a minute, trying to put what he was feeling into words. "It feels good to be here . . . some part of me recognizes that it's a part of me and always will be. But it's not _home_ . . . not anymore. Home is that apartment in Boston with my job and our friends and neighbors. It's the life you and I have started to build together." He thought about it for a minute longer. "It's not that I don't want to be here . . . I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now . . . but it's just not . . . home. Does that make _any_ kind of sense?"

"Yeah," she responded, her throat tightening. "It makes total sense, angel. God, I want to come home!"

Jonny sighed again. "Why does everything always have to be so hard?"

For a time they were quiet again, neither one ready to relinquish what small comfort the phone connection provided.

"What are you dreaming about?" Jonny finally asked. He could almost feel her shrug.

"You don't want to know."

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't. Might make you feel better to talk about it."

"I doubt it."

"Come on. Try."

"There was this dungeon," she finally said reluctantly. "At the castle. It reminded me of the newsreel footage you used to see about the Holocaust. You know, you think you know the depths that people can sink to, and you think you can deal with it. But nothing can prepare you for seeing something like that. Those poor people . . ."

"At least it won't happen again."

"We hope . . ."

"Don't be cynical. We fought that war to see that it wouldn't."

Instead of replying to that comment, she asked, "What about you? Dreaming about what happened at the palace?"

Jonny snorted. "I wish. No, for some reason my warped brain has me dreaming about Jeremiah Surd."

"_Surd?_ For God's sake, why?"

"I have no idea. You and I spent half the night last night trapped in MegaQuest again. And I kept hearing Surd saying, 'You're going to die here.' Over and over. I just couldn't seem to turn it off."

"You know, we need to get a life, Quest."

"We have one. We just need to get back to it one day."

Light suddenly spilled into the darkened room as the bedroom door opened.

"Jon? Are you in here?"

"Right here, Estella."

"You need to be in bed. It's after midnight."

"See, I told you," he said to Jessie. "Her own personal campaign. I've been talking to Jess. You want to say 'hi'?"

Estella took the phone from him. "Hello, sweetheart."

"Hi, Mom. How are you?"

"The same as I was day before yesterday when you asked - just fine," she replied with a laugh. "I swear, you're just as bad as your father."

"He's concerned about you."

"He's a worrywart. Believe me, I feel great. Look, I was planning on calling you tomorrow after my doctor's appointment, so I'm not going to linger now. I'm also going to take Jon away from you. He may think that brain of his is a computer that doesn't need rest, but he's wrong. He's been going non-stop since about five this morning and I intend to see he gets some sleep."

"Good. Don't let him talk you out of it. Tell him I love him and that I'll talk to him tomorrow."

"I will. You take care and say 'hello' to Kefira for me."

"I will. Love you, Mom. And love to Dad, too."

"And you. Good night." Hitting the disconnect button before Jonny could protest, she said, "She sends her love and will talk to you tomorrow. Now . . . to bed with you."

Jonny shook his head and then rose with a weary grin. "Yes, mother." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
"I think this has gone on long enough," Race said quietly the next evening. They had all gathered in the dining room for dinner at Race's insistence, and while nothing was said during the meal, all of them sensed that something was coming. In the tense silence that followed his statement, Race looked solemnly at each of them. Finally, when no one responded, he continued. "You aren't getting anywhere and you all know it. I think maybe the time has come to admit that you never will." 

"Research takes time, Race," Hadji protested. "You have worked with Father long enough to know that. We must keep trying." Beside him, Maia whimpered softly and edged closer, causing the young man to put his arm around her comfortingly. "We could be one discovery away from the answer."

"Or there may not _be_ a solution," Race responded evenly. "The point is, the time comes when you have to admit that there's simply nothing else you can do."

"I want to keep trying," Hadji said emphatically.

"Barbara, what do you think?"

She stared at her plate for a long time before responding. "I want to keep trying, too," she finally said, but when she raised her head to look around the table, they were all struck by the misery there. "But I don't know what to do any more. We've tried everything I can think of, even some things I would never have considered under any other circumstances. _**Nothing**_ has worked."

Race nodded and then reached down to pull Vassey into his lap. The heightened sense of tension in the room obviously frightened the child and caused him to tremble visibly. Race wrapped his arms around the boy, crooning to him softly, and then continued around the table. "Stel?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to lose Benton, not only for our own personal, selfish reasons, but because a talent like his comes along so rarely and the world needs what he still has to offer. But the longer we maintain him the way we're doing now, the longer we violate his own wishes. He was very emphatic about his desires should something like this happen. How long can we continue to justify it? I think if we've reached the point where all we're doing is grasping in the dark with no set direction and no hope . . . well, then we're out of options."

Finally, Race turned to Jonny. He sat, silent and withdrawn, his eyes closed and his shoulders slumped. Race was struck with a sudden strong sense of déjà vu as he realized that he was familiar with that posture. Jonny had looked just like this as he sat in the hospital in Cairo waiting to see if Jessie would live or die. He turned and his eyes locked with Estella's. In their emerald depths he saw the same recognition, compounded with worry. Finally, Race turned back again and asked gently, "Jonny?"

The silence stretched painfully as they all waited for him to respond. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked directly at his brother. "I love my father so much," he said in a choked voice. "I can't imagine life without him."

"Then help me -" Hadji began urgently, but Jonny cut him off.

"But if we _can_ find a way to bring him back, will he thank us for it, Hadji? If he comes back a shadow of what he used to be . . . having to watch everything he says or does . . . is it right of us to ask that of him just because we can't stand the idea of life without him?"

"So what would you do?" Hadji demanded, pain and frustration flashing into anger. "Just give up and let him die? He has _never_ given up on any of us!"

"You think I don't know that?" Jonny came back at him in the same tone. "Do you have any idea what it makes me feel like to have to sit here and suggest that it's time we let him go? I've spent the last two weeks wracking my brain trying to think of something . . . _anything_ . . . that might reverse this. I've prayed until I'm hoarse that you and Dr. Mason and Jess . . . yes, Jessie . . . she's been working at this as hard as any of us, even though she can't be here! I've prayed that you'd find something. But Race is _right!_ We're no closer than we were before we even knew he was sick." Jonny threw himself to his feet, his hands clenched into fists and his face white. "I've _**tried**_. He's my **father** and there should be something I can do to help him, but _I CAN'T FIND IT!_" He spun then, and ran out of the room, the violent slamming of the front door seeming to add a poignant exclamation point to the evidence of his grief. 

Hadji leaned forward, rested his head in his hands, and after a moment he said in a low, bitter voice, "Very well. Since the rest of you all believe we are wrong to keep trying, I will bow to the collected wisdom." Then he stood abruptly. "But, I will have no part in this. I will pack my things, I will take Maia and Srinivasan, and we will return to Bangalore. Once I am gone, you may do as you wish . . . but not before." He looked down at Maia and held out his hand to her, but she shied away, frightened by his obvious anger. After a moment, he shrugged and walked out of the room in silence. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Jonny walked along the shore for a long time, watching the ocean. Fall had come upon Maine abruptly while they were in Bangalore, and the wind blowing across the water from the northeast held the first smell of winter. It tossed his hair and cut through his lightweight T-shirt, making him shiver convulsively. But the reaction was only partially caused by the chill. In siding with Race and the other adults against his brother, Jonny knew he had signed his father's death warrant. He also knew that it was unlikely Hadji would ever forgive him for it. So in one single action, he would lose two of the most important people in his life. 

He stopped and stared out over the restless waves, wrapping his arms around his body as that indefinable sense of unease filled him again. There was something eating at him . . . something he had forgotten . . . or maybe overlooked. Whatever it was, the feeling was growing stronger with each passing minute and it was driving him crazy.

A sudden blast of cold air struck him forcibly, catching the foaming surf and flinging water across the ragged rocks in the shallows and into his face. He flinched back, consciously aware of his surroundings for the first time in hours. While he had wandered the grounds struggling to come to grips with the decision they were being forced to make, darkness had fallen and his unwary footsteps had led him to the cove where Baxter and Leeds had their final confrontation. Somehow, the shadows seemed ominous, and the scent of death lingered here as if the place was haunted. The fitful moonlight came and went as clouds scuttled across the sky, and in the distance he could just make out the first signs of a storm building over the ocean. He shivered again, turning hastily toward the narrow creek and ravine that led back up to the top of the bluff. He'd seen enough death recently to last him a lifetime and without another thought, he fled back toward the mansion as though pursued. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Hadji flung another shirt into the suitcase that lay open on the bed with uncharacteristic violence. The fury and despair that filled him were potent and he fought desperately to keep them in check enough that he wouldn't physically lash out at something. They were going to kill the only father he'd ever known. That's what it came right down to. They could keep him alive, but they wouldn't do it. He slammed the dresser drawer shut and yanked open another one. Life is sacred, couldn't they understand that? 

_Keep him alive for what?_

Jonny's question rang in his mind again, causing Hadji to check. A tiny voice inside urged him to think about that question seriously. Jonny had come to him more than a week ago, wanting to talk . . . asking questions Hadji didn't want to hear. _Are we sure we're doing the right thing? Is this what Dad would want? What happens if we manage to bring him back to consciousness only to find he's brain damaged or mentally handicapped in some way? Do we have the right to keep him alive indefinitely in this state against his direct wishes?_ For the first time in his life, Hadji had refused to be reasonable or open-minded, not wanting to consider where those questions might lead him. But refusing to consider them hadn't stopped anything. And now they had all given up.

He could understand some of their point of view. Race, in particular, was in a difficult position because he was the one directly charged with seeing that Benton's wishes were followed. Not being a researcher himself, he couldn't understand the time needed to work through a problem like this. And you could hardly blame Estella for following his lead. She had stuck with the research longer than he would have expected, considering how difficult her position must have been. And Dr. Mason? Things must look more hopeless to her than to any of the rest of them. Her medical background was almost more of a detriment than a help. She came in with preconceived notions of what was possible and what wasn't. So for her to give up in the face of what looked hopeless . . . well, he grudgingly admitted that he couldn't blame her.

But Jonny? How could he just quit? The intensity the betrayal he felt bordered on the edge of hatred. He would never forgive him for this. Never. Hadji reached into the drawer haphazardly, grabbed everything he could hold and flung it viciously at the bed. Something heavy in the bundle struck the lid of the open suitcase, flipping it over and sending it, and everything inside, tumbling to the floor with a resounding thump. He leaned over, grasping the edges of the dresser in a grip so tight it turned his entire hand white. _How will I ever survive this?_ he asked himself in despair. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Race and Estella sat side-by-side in the big family room downstairs. On the far side of the room, Maia and Vassey huddled together watching the pair with huge, fearful eyes. 

"It's all coming apart," Race said despairingly.

She nestled up against his side and put her arms around him in some small attempt at comfort. "They'll get over it, Race. It won't be easy, but -"

"Will they? I'm not so sure. This may be the single thing capable of driving a permanent wedge between those two boys. I think I was wrong, Stel. I should have followed Aaron's advice when he first came to me and ended this before they came home. At least then they would have had each other. Now, even that's gone."

"No. You were right. No matter how hard it is on them, you _had_ to allow this choice to be theirs. We just have to believe that the years of love and loyalty to each other will kick in once the initial pain has passed."

Race leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and rested his head in his hands wearily. "God, I hope you're right." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Barbara closed the door to Benton's room quietly and crossed to the still figure. In the dim, fitful moonlight, she could just make out his profile. With shaking fingers, she reached out and touched his cheek. 

"I've failed you, Benton," she whispered is a choked voice. "This never should have happened. I'm so sorry." Her voice cracked and she sobbed softly. She sank slowly onto the bed, sitting next to him as she fought to keep from breaking down completely. "There were so many things I wanted to say to you . . . so many things I wanted you to know. But somehow, the timing just never seemed right, so I kept silent. And now . . . now there's no time left."

She reached out and took his lax hand in hers, twining their fingers and drawing it against her chest. For a long time, she sat cradling it to her as the pain that filled her swelled until she could barely breathe. Finally, as if she couldn't keep silent any longer, she whispered, "I - I guess there was only one thing that I wanted to tell you. It was all that ever really mattered, but I was scared . . . scared that if I did, you wouldn't feel the same . . . that you would be embarrassed and uncomfortable . . . and that I would lose your friendship. And now I'll never know . . . I - I . . ." Again she stopped, as if once again unable to continue. Then, the tears finally came, and through her sobs, she gasped brokenly, "I love you, Benton Quest. I love you so much . . ." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
_The darkness was hot and oppressive and made Jonny feel as if he were suffocating. Fearfully, he reached up and laid a hand across his eyes, wondering if he had gone blind. Where was he? He didn't remember getting here. There was an undercurrent of sound in the blackness . . . distant and indistinct, and yet with an edge that grated on his nerves. He could almost place the sound, but just as he thought he had it, whatever memory that would have triggered recognition flitted away again. _

Grimly, he groped in the dark, searching for anything that would tell him where he was. But there was nothing . . . absolutely nothing.

"Hadji? Jessie? Dad? Is anybody here?" he called into the blackness, but there was no answer. In the distance, that undercurrent of sound intensified for a second, and in that instant, Jonny placed it. Laughter . . . a cold, chilling laughter that seemed to mock him.

Cautiously, he began to advance, checking the ground under his feet carefully with each step forward. How had he gotten here? Where was everyone else? Why was he in a strange place all alone? He froze suddenly as the ground disappeared from beneath his right foot. Stepping back carefully, he sank slowly to his knees and groped along the ground until he came to the edge of a precipice. The edge was cold and rounded, like well-worn stone, and the walls felt sheer. He felt around on the ground to either side of him and finally discovered a loose stone about the size of his fist. Leaning out over the chasm, he dropped the stone and then waited, listening intently. Finally, after a count of about fifty, he heard a distant splash as somewhere far below him, the stone hit water. Backing away from the edge of the pit, he grimly began to move laterally, searching for a way around.

As he did so, he searched his mind frantically. How had he gotten here? And where was here? The first faint edges of panic touched him as he realized that he had absolutely no idea. Well, if he didn't know where he was, then what had he been doing just before he woke up here? But he found he didn't know that either. The only thing he knew for certain was that something really important was going on at home, that he was needed there urgently, and that if he didn't get there something really bad was going to happen. But what? The panic grew as he realized that he didn't know.

As if able to read his mind, the distant laughter grew louder and now there were words. He couldn't make them out, but the cadence of the sounds told him someone was speaking to him.

"What do you want?" he yelled at the unseen speaker. But the only response he got was that laughter. Suddenly, off to his right, he became aware of something new. A light had flared some distance away. It was a dull, sullen red, but it beckoned him. Deciding that anything was better than this absolute darkness, he moved toward it cautiously on his hands and knees.

As his careful progress brought him closer, the dull red glow began to provide enough light so he could see his surroundings. Rising carefully to his feet once more, he looked around. He was in a passageway of some kind. The floor was flat, made of stone, and appeared solid. The walls were about fifteen feet apart and also appeared to be made of stone, although they glistened intermittently, as though wet. They arched as they rose, curving inward to form the ceiling, however he couldn't see where they met above his head because of the dimness of the light. Something stirred in his mind. He knew this place. He'd been here before.

Ahead of him, he could see an entryway. A large, heavy wooden door stood partially ajar, allowing the red light to escape. He approached it cautiously, a sense of unexplained dread filling him. That elusive memory he couldn't quite grasp was telling him that there was danger here. And suddenly, he knew he wasn't alone in this place. There were others . . . **should be** others. He stopped, grabbing frantically at that wisp of memory. Jessie! Jessie should be here. Where was she?

"Jess! Jessie, where are you?" he called loudly.

His voice echoed hollowly, but the only sound he heard in reply was a deep grating screech. Turning back again, he saw the huge door closing slowly, shutting off his only source of light. He lunged forward, grabbing it by the edges and trying to jerk it open again, but it wouldn't budge. Inexorably, it continued to close. Left with no choice, Jonny lurched forward and wedged himself through the door into the room beyond, just before it slammed shut with ominous finality.

Panting heavily, he spun and stared at his surroundings. He was in a round, high-ceilinged chamber made of stone. There were four large entryways into it. In confusion, Jonny noted that none of them had doors. Narrow, arching windows lined the walls between the entryways, and just below the bottom of the windows was a narrow ledge. Stone bowls filled with fire sat on the ledge at intervals, providing the only light in the room. At the very center of the chamber was a square, raised pedestal. At its base were four more bowls that blazed with living fire, and sitting upon it was a golden challis. Memory slammed into him then, as he realized where he was. He was trapped in MegaQuest again. 

"You're going to die here."

The words were cold and gleeful and seemed to come from all around him. He spun, searching for the speaker, but he was still alone.

"You're dead!" he screamed defiantly.

"Just as you're going to be. My neural cybernet will see to that." And then Jeremiah Surd appeared, hovering in the doorway on the opposite side of the chamber from where Jonny stood. "Your clones are here . . . in the game. And they will just keep coming and coming and coming. They are made by the computer and they never tire. And if you destroy one of them? Well, the computer will just regenerate it. It has that capability."

"No!" Jonny gasped. "That's not how it worked."

"Ah, but it is now. After all, I'm dead, remember. How is Bannon going to get the abort codes this time?" Surd laughed again. "You're going to die here, boy. Just as the Bannon girl already has."

**"NO! That's not the way it happened!"**

"Just as your father will . . . because you weren't bright enough to find a way out." Surd cackled gleefully. "And I will finally have my revenge."

**"NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"**

Jonny jerked upright, panting heavily, his scream still echoing in the darkened bedroom. Cold sweat bathed his body and he shivered convulsively. A nightmare. God, he was having a nightmare again. Sliding to the edge of the bed, he hunched over, placed his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands. Why couldn't he shake this? What was wrong with him? _Too stretched to think straight,_ he told himself shakily. _Just calm down._ That uneasy sense of forgetting something struck him again and he shuddered in response. _You're letting yourself be driven by fear and despair,_ he thought sternly, struggling to regain control. He straighten, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. Using a technique Hadji had taught him many years before, he focused inward, concentrating all of his attention on the mechanics and sensation of taking one deep breath after another. Slowly, calmness stole over him and one by one his muscles began to relax. _Now,_ he thought distantly, _look at the dream. Your subconscious is trying to tell you something. What is it?_ He'd been having the same dream for the last week and a half. It varied in minute details, but essentially it was the same night after night. What was there about it . . .

He gasped suddenly, his eyes snapping open, as the idea struck him like a blow. Could that really work? But it would leave them in the exact same situation they were in now. Another idea occurred to him. Or maybe not. Feverishly, he threw himself to his feet and crossed to the computer on the desk. Working strictly from the keyboard in an effort to keep from waking anyone else in the house, he called up file after file, searching frantically for what he was looking for, but nothing seemed to satisfy him. Abandoning that line of inquiry, he called up archive records, scanning the lists of documents and dates, searching for any sign of a file that would contain what he needed. Yes, there were possibilities there. Enough to make it worth one final, last ditch try.

Rising again, he tossed on his clothes hastily and then made for the door. In the upstairs corridor, he paused. He couldn't do this alone. He needed help. And there was only one person in this house knowledgeable enough to be able to do it. Without hesitation, he crossed the hall and flung open a door. Hadji sat motionless in a chair by the window, staring out toward the ocean.

"I've supported you and tried it your way," Jonny said to his brother shortly. "It hasn't worked. Are you willing to try an idea of mine?"

Hadji turned to stare at him. "What? You have changed your mind, now?" he asked bitterly. "You have decided that Father's life is worth a little extra effort after all?"

Jonny's temper flared. "If our father dies, it will be because of you and your holier than thou attitude, not because I wasn't willing to try!" He made a disgusted sound. "Screw you! I'll find a way to do this by myself!" It took all of his self-control not to slam the door of his brother's room. The only thing that prevented him from doing it was the knowledge that if he did, he was certain to wake Race, and Jonny wasn't at all sure what his or Dr. Mason's reaction would be to what he was planning to do.

Moving in silence, he went up the hall to his father's room and began transferring him onto the mobile life support system. He was startled to find Dr. Mason lying near the foot of his father's bed, but she was out cold and didn't stir as he disconnected the leads to the machines. As he moved to the side of the bed to try to lift Benton onto the nearby stretcher, Hadji appeared at his elbow.

"You take his shoulders," he hissed softly. "I will take his feet."

Jonny stared at him for a moment and then nodded. Together, they shifted Benton onto the stretcher and then carefully maneuvered it out into the hallway. Once there, Jonny closed the door to his father's room once more.

"Where are we taking him?" Hadji demanded in a whisper.

"The lab. Let's go."

They carried the stretcher down the stairs, through the house, and out the back door. Once they were out of the house, Hadji asked, "What are you planning?"

"You want to wake him up? Well, I think I've figured out how to do it."

"How?"

"I'm going to get Surd to help us."

"Surd! What are you talking about?"

"You'll see." Gesturing to Hadji, the two of them set the stretcher down on the ground outside the lighthouse door, and then Jonny activated the mechanism that allowed them to raise it and roll it on wheels. Maneuvering the stretcher through the door, he said, "Can you get him up to the lab and into one of the mobile QuestWorld headsets? You may have to rig sensors onto the stretcher. I don't think we should try to take him off of it this time."

"You are going to take him into QuestWorld again? We have already tried that and it didn't work."

"Look. Just trust me, okay? What do we have left to lose? Hadji, we're between a rock and a hard place. Even if I back you in refusing to shut down the life support equipment, how long can we hold out? We don't have the legal leverage to keep it up. Right now, the only reason we haven't been overruled is because Race is refusing to give the order. But we both know he has the power to do it, and sooner or later, his conscience will win out and he'll follow the instructions in Dad's living will. And even if he doesn't, Aaron Sorenson may just take things into his own hands and get a court injunction to enforce the thing. Is that what you want?"

"No."

Jonny stared at his brother. "Furthermore, you have a wife now . . . one that's stuck on the other side of the globe trying to deal with a serious mess. She needs you. The people of Bangalore need you. And I have people who depend on me, too. We can't ignore them forever. My idea is way out there, and I'm not going to lie to you. It may not work. And if it doesn't, I'm fairly certain it will kill Dad. But at least he will have died with us _trying_. Isn't that better than just turning off the machines and watching him slip away?"

Hadji swallowed hard, but then nodded. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely. Then, in a strong voice, he said, "Yes! We will try it your way." As Jonny turned away, Hadji reached out and grabbed his arm. "Jonny -"

"What?" he demanded, his mind only half on what his brother was saying. But at the look on his face, Jonny's attention snapped into full focus. "What's wrong?"

"I - I am -" Hadji drew a hard breath. "I am sorry, my brother. I have no excuse for my behavior -"

"You don't need one," Jonny replied and grabbed him into a tight hug. "We both love Dad and to be honest, I don't know what I'll do if this doesn't work."

Hugging him back, Hadji replied, "We will cope, just as he taught us . . . the two of us together."

"Yeah." After a minute, he stepped back and gestured toward the stretcher. "Go on, get him upstairs. I'll be with you in a minute."

"Where are you going?"

"I have to get something from the vault." Then he spun and headed for the spiral staircase that led up to the second floor.

The vault was carved into the solid bedrock beneath the lighthouse, and it's only access was from a dedicated elevator in the second floor lab. He provided the necessary security codes, descended swiftly, went through two more series of security checkpoints and finally got into the huge chamber. The silence was eerie and he was struck again by it's similarity to the Pentagon storage warehouses that Chris Carter had portrayed in _The X-Files_. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, he moved to his right until he located the corridor he wanted and then trotted down it's length until he reached the specified storage box he was looking for. Reaching inside, he pulled out a plastic case containing a large silver disk about the size of an old 33-1/3 rpm record. It's surface shown with multi-colored iridescence in the fluorescent lights. Shoving the box back into place, Jonny retraced his steps and returned to the lab a short time later.

Taking the disk to one of the specially-made drives in a nearby computer console, he inserted it and then sat down at a work station next to Hadji. He called up the storage device, searched briefly until he located the file he was looking for and then said, "IRIS, I need for you to copy the highlighted file onto the mainframe, load the data and hold it for further instructions."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. FILE LOADED. STANDING BY."

Rising, he grabbed the headset Hadji had left sitting on the console for him, donned it, and then settled into the chair nearest the stretcher where his father lay. "Okay, Hadj, I want you to log both Dad and I into QuestWorld." He glanced at the high windows where the first traces of dawn were just starting to show in the eastern sky. "Everyone else in the house will be stirring soon. They may show up here before we're finished, and if they do, I don't think they're going to like it much. Whatever you do, don't let them stop what I'm trying to do. Got it?"

Hadji nodded. "I will not. But grant me this much. What _are_ we trying to do?"

Jonny chewed on his lip for a second and then said, "We're going to restore his backup. Log us in now."

Without another moment's hesitation, Hadji turned to his keyboard. "QuestWorld logon . . . subjects Jonny and Benton Quest. Going hot in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .1 . . ."

The world flared around Jonny and after the familiar few seconds of disorientation, he found himself standing beside his father in the gateway of QuestWorld. Around him, Hadji's voice echoed hollowly, "You are both logged in. Now what?"

"Now, I want you to launch MegaQuest."

"MegaQuest!? But Jonny -"

"Trust me, Hadji. Just do it!"

With a hint of misgiving, Hadji said, "Launching MegaQuest."

Around them, the scenery changed and the tumbled ruins and crumbling columns of ancient buildings appeared.

"IRIS, freeze program."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. PROGRAM PAUSED."

"Go out to my archives and search the saved versions of this game. Locate a saved version that begins on the third level as close to the challis room as possible, load and restart the program from that point."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING. PROGRAM LOADING NOW."

Again the scenery changed and this time when it reformed, they were standing in a long, stone corridor. The walls arched above him until the disappeared into the blackness without ever reaching their peak, and there were traces of water on the walls. This time, however, sconces along the walls held torches which cast dim light along its length. Jonny smiled grimly. Yep, this was the place he needed.

"IRIS, power chariot and shield." The power chariot immediately appeared however the shield did not.

"SHIELD WAS DESTROYED IN EARLIER PLAY. THE ONLY WEAPON AVAILABLE IS THE SPEAR."

Jonny sighed. "Oh yeah, that's right. Jess got rid of that pretty early on, didn't she?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

"Oh well, hopefully I won't need it." Pulling his father onto the power chariot with him, Jonny set off quickly down the long corridor. It took only a moment before he spotted the hole in the floor that marked the pit. Remembering the denizens that lurked in the water below from a previous game where he had 'died' there, he skirted it carefully and took the next corridor to the right. He wove his way skillfully through the traps and pitfalls of the game, having encountered them all at one time or another during previous play. Finally, he spotted the entrance into the central chamber where the challis rested on its pedestal. He stopped the chariot outside the entrance, pulled his father from it and led him to the doorway. Before any of the game's various hazards could start, he called, "IRIS, freeze program."

At almost the exact same time, he heard Race's voice, thick with anger, demand, "What the hell are you two doing?"

"They've logged him into QuestWorld again, Race," Estella said breathlessly while Barbara added, "He seems to be all right. There's no change to the monitors."

"We are trying one last attempt to bring him around, Race," Hadji said evenly.

"We had this discussion last night. I thought we all agreed that we'd reached the end of this nonsense."

"That was before Jonny came up with an idea that may work. At least it is worth trying."

"Jonathan Quest, this is pointless," Race said sternly. "I know how desperately you want to find a way to save your father, but Hadji and Barbara have tried everything and nothing has worked -"

"And if they can't find it, then I sure can't, is that it? Look, what's the harm in trying my idea?" Jonny replied. "If it doesn't work, we're no worse off than we were before."

"Jonny, I know you're hurting," Estella said softly, "but are you sure this is what you want to do? Be reasonable . . ."

"Hadji, log both of them out of there right now," Race demanded.

"No! We will allow him to try his idea."

"I said, log them out! I won't have Benton's wishes defied any longer. He deserves more respect than this. What you're both doing is exactly what he was trying to avoid, and I won't put up with it any longer! IRIS, log out -"

Before he could finish, Jonny cut him off. "IRIS, system override, authorization JQUEST248, code omega, condition red."

"SYSTEM OVERRIDE ACTIVATED, CONDITION RED. AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS."

"Lock out all exterior users with the exception of Hadji Singh. Inactivate all keyboard and voice activated input devices until further notice. Activate self-defense mechanisms. Don't allow yourself to be turned off or the power disrupted."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. ALL EXTERIOR INPUT DEVICES INACTIVATED. VOICE AND KEYBOARD COMMANDS ACCEPTED BY HADJI SINGH ONLY. SELF-DEFENSE MECHANISMS ON-LINE."

"Stay out of it, Race." Jonny said in a hard voice. "We're going to do this, one way or the other. Hadji, you still there?"

"Here."

"What I'm going to do may cause the system to go unstable. If it does, your job is to get me out of here before the system crashes. Got that?"

"Yes. What about Father?"

"You already know the answer to that."

There was a brief silence and then Hadji said quietly, "I understand. I am ready."

There was fear in Race's voice this time when he asked, "What's he doing?"

"IRIS, isolate the programming for the construct 'Benton Quest'."

"WORKING. PROGRAMMING CODE HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED AND ISOLATED."

"Load the archival file recently transferred onto the mainframe to resident memory and identify the components of the file."

"FILE CONTAINS ARCHIVED PROGRAMMING CODE FOR THE QUESTWORLD PERSONNAS OF USERS. FILE IS SEVEN YEARS AND 23 DAYS OLD."

"Good. Identify and isolate the programming code for the persona 'Benton Quest'."

"WORKING. PROGRAMMING CODE HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED AND ISOLATED."

Jonny took a deep breath, offered a soft prayer of supplication, and then instructed steadily, "Copy the archival programming for the persona 'Benton Quest' to the main system, overwriting the current programming."

"WORKING."

"What the hell?" Race said explosively. "Benton's _in_ there!"

"Yes," Hadji whispered breathily as he suddenly realized what Jonny was trying to do. "Yes, this may work!"

"WARNING. UNABLE TO COMPLETE REQUESTED ACTIVITY. SHARING VIOLATION HAS OCCURRED. PROGRAMMING CODE FOR PERSONNA 'BENTON QUEST' IS CURRENTLY ACTIVE. SHUT DOWN PROGRAM AND LOG SUBJECT OUT OF QUESTWORLD?"

"Negative, IRIS. Give me a programming override, please."

"PLEASE SPECIFY PASSWORD FOR PROGRAMMING OVERRIDE."

"J248QUEST, code omega override, back door sector matrix 35 x 6870."

For several breathless seconds, IRIS didn't respond. Finally, she said, "SYSTEM OVERRIDE ACKNOWLEDGED. ACCESS TO BASE SYSTEM PROGRAMMING GRANTED. AWAITING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS."

In the lab, Race turned to Hadji, looking white and shaken. "How long has he been able to access IRIS' base programming? I thought only Benton could do that."

"So did I," Hadji replied, sounding equally shaken. "I knew that he had become very good at programming, and that he had tried writing some specialty programs for IRIS. But I had no idea he was working at that level."

"Parse the programming for persona 'Benton Quest', and overwrite the archival programming. QuestWorld is to remain running. Program MegaQuest is to remaining running."

"WARNING. BENTON QUEST IS CURRENTLY LOGGED INTO QUESTWORLD AND WITHIN THE PROGRAM MEGAQUEST. OVERWRITING OPEN PROGRAM MAY CAUSE INSTABILITY IN THE SYSTEM."

"I understand, IRIS. Just do it."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING."

They all waited breathlessly while IRIS worked to complete the instructions. Suddenly, the frozen image of the challis room in MegaQuest wavered around Jonny and he was struck by a sudden feeling of disorientation.

"The system is becoming unstable!" Hadji said. "IRIS, QuestWorld logout, subject Jonny Quest." But there was no response. "IRIS, get Jonny out of there!" he commanded, typing frantically at his keyboard. Race surged forward, reaching for a power coupling that would cut the power to the system, but before he could reach it, IRIS lashed out, striking him with a low-level stun beam that sent him careening back into a nearby console. "She will not allow you to cut the power, Race," Hadji told him breathlessly as he continued to work at the keyboard. Then, with an exclamation of satisfaction, he said, "I believe I have it . . ."

The headset across Jonny's eyes flared and then went out. He blinked and looked around, dazed. "What happened?"

"The system has become unstable," Hadji told him. "And with the interface to the base programming open, nothing is acting the way I am accustomed."

Jonny shoved himself out of the chair and crossed to one of the keyboards at the main console. "IRIS, release the lockdown on the exterior devices. Status of current task?"

There was a long pause and then she replied, "OVERWRITE OF PERSONA PROGRAM 'BENTON QUEST' COMPLETE."

"Close access to base programming, IRIS. Can you re-establish system stability?"

"WORKING. SYSTEM STABILITY ACHIEVED."

"Good. Now, recompile the persona program 'Benton Quest' checking for corruption and display all damaged code."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING."

Time stretched painfully as they waited for IRIS' confirmation that she had completed her assigned task.

"What are you trying to do, Jon?" Barbara asked quietly as they waited. "I don't understand."

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly realizing that his head was throbbing. "What is the human brain?" he finally asked her. When Barbara looked at him blankly, he looked past her to the others.

"It is a very small, very complex biological computer," Hadji replied promptly.

Jonny nodded. "And in Dad's case, a computer whose base programming became corrupted by Smallwood's tampering." He sighed. "Almost since I got home, I've been having nightmares."

"Both of you have," Race pointed out.

Jonny nodded again. "I know. So have Jess and Kefira. But mine have been different. While everyone else has been dreaming about what happened in Bangalore, I've been dreaming about Jeremiah Surd and MegaQuest. It took me this long to realize that my subconscious mind has been desperately trying to tell me something. Tonight I finally got it. Dad's brain is a computer . . . a malfunctioning one. Now, there's two basic reasons that a computer malfunctions. It's either a hardware or a software problem. Dr. Mason has said all along that Dad's shown no sign of brain damage, so to continue the analogy, the problem isn't the hardware. That leaves us with a software problem. And how do you fix a software problem?"

"You reboot the system," Hadji replied.

"Which we tried and couldn't make it work. What else?"

"You reload the program," Race volunteered.

"Yes, but we don't have the original disks for Dad's mind." He stopped, thinking about that for a minute. Then he shuddered. "That's a scary thought. There's one other option. Anyone?"

Very softly, Estella murmured, "You reload a backup."

"You reload a backup," Jonny agreed. "And that's what I just tried to do. There's a chance that because of Surd's tampering with QuestWorld, he actually made it possible for me to reload the basic electronic structure of Dad's mind by copying over the programming code Dad and IRIS developed to create the virtual personas in QuestWorld. Whether it worked or not -"

"RECOMPILE COMPLETE," IRIS interrupted. "NO PROGRAMMING ERRORS DETECTED."

". . . we are just about to find out," Jonny finished. He rose, picking up the headset from the console next to him, and went back to the chair at the center of the room. "Log me back in Hadj . . . directly into MegaQuest."

"Jonny, if the system goes unstable again -" Hadji began, but Jonny interrupted him.

"No choice, Hadji. If I'm right, MegaQuest has to be reactivated to complete this process. It's Surd's cyber neural net that's gonna make this work . . . if it works at all. We have to reactivate the program, play it out, and then close it normally. If you activate it without someone in there to defend him, I don't know what will happen. Remember, we haven't played this game since Jess and I got stuck in there with Surd's sleeper virus."

"We got rid of the virus," Hadji protested. "We made certain of it."

"Yeah, but we already know that the changes Surd made that allow the system to transfer what happens to us in there to our bodies out here still works. I don't want to take any chances."

"I'll go with you," Race said, but Jonny shook his head. "And risk both of us if the system crashes? Not a chance. You've got a new baby to think about. My play - my risk." He seated the headset and instructed, "Do it, Hadji."

Shaking his head, Hadji turned back to his keyboard. "QuestWorld logon, subject Jonny Quest. Insertion into running program MegaQuest. Going hot in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . ."

Once again, reality disappeared and a moment later Jonny found himself in the paused MegaQuest program.

"Okay, IRIS, remove the isolation of the program persona 'Benton Quest', reinsert into MegaQuest, and run the program." For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then the barest flicker to his right warned him they were live again.

"IRIS, power spear!" he demanded sharply. It materialized in his hand instantly and he spun to face the six-armed gorgon that defended the challis chamber. Jonny leaped forward, rolled and came up underneath the monster. Thrusting the power spear into the monster's belly, he used his weight to flip the creature onto its back, knowing full well that the move would barely slow the creature down. Vaulting out of the way, Jonny surged to his feet and crossed the challis room as a run, making for one of the sconces that lined the wall. Grabbing it, he twisted hard, but it didn't move.

"Dang it! Wrong one." He tried three more before he found the one he wanted. By that time the gorgon was bearing down on him again, roaring loudly.

"God, I hate this game," Race said fervently, watching the action on the large wall monitor. "Why didn't we destroy it when we had the chance?"

"Because Jonny would not allow you to do so," Hadji replied, seeming unfazed by the action in QuestWorld. "And because he had written it, Father said he had the right to decide what happened to it."

"Don't remind me," Race grumbled.

Jonny managed to avoid the monster's attempts to grab him and made another run to the far side of the room where a previously invisible niche had appeared in the wall. Reaching into it, he drew out a sword. Living fire seemed to lick up and down the blade. Just as the monster was about to attack him again, Jonny turned fluidly and with a single, backhanded stroke, he took the monster's head off at the shoulders. The body dropped like a stone. Climbing over it, Jonny crossed to the center of the room, grabbed the challis off of the pedestal, raised it above his head, and called loudly, "I claim this challis by right of conquest."

The program froze and IRIS responded. "PLAYER NUMBER ONE HAS CLAIMED THE CHALLIS. DOES THE SECOND PLAYER WISH TO CHALLENGE PLAYER NUMBER ONE'S CLAIM?" There was no response from Benton. "AS THERE ARE NO CHALLENGERS, THE GAME IS DECLARED OFFICIALLY OVER. INSTRUCTIONS?"

"Log the final score and shut the program down, IRIS. Then log all players out of QuestWorld."

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

An instant later, the ancient stone walls resolved themselves into the lab once more. Pulling off the headset, Jonny rose and crossed to his father. Hadji met him by the stretcher.

"Now what do we do?" Hadji asked.

"We get rid of this stuff and see what happens." At Barbara's soft sound of protest, Jonny looked up. "This was our last chance. Hadji and I agreed. If this didn't work, then we would allow Dad's wishes to stand and let nature take it's course."

Reaching down, he carefully removed the ventilator while Hadji turned off the machines and disconnected the various electrodes. They all waited for a moment but nothing seemed to happen. Finally, Jonny leaned over and shook his father's shoulder gently.

"Dad! Come on, Dad. Wake up!"

For a moment longer nothing happened. Just as they were about to give up, Benton drew a deep breath, opened his eyes and gazed up blearily. "Jonny?" he whispered hoarsely. "What time is it?" Then he blinked, focusing on his youngest son. "What did you do to your _**hair**_?"


	56. Epilog

**Epilog**

  


The late October wind gusted fitfully, sending the fallen leaves dancing around Jessie Bannon's ankles and tossing her hair as she moved easily along the quiet, residential streets. The weather was sunny and cool and she took a moment to just enjoy being back where she belonged. She'd returned to the States about a week ago, having stayed for several days after Hadji's arrival just to reassure herself that things were going smoothly and that neither Hadji nor Kefira were in any further danger. Her diligence was rewarded when, true to her word, Kefira had brought Captain Gupta before Hadji so that the man could express his views on Hadji's choice of a wife.

Jessie shook her head with a smile, remembering that interview. She didn't know if Captain Gupta didn't bother to keep up with the news or just deliberately ignored the fact that Hadji had already announced his decision to abdicate. But whichever it was, Gupta spent twenty minutes making an impassioned speech about the long and illustrious history of Bangalore, the sanctity of the Sultancy, and the need to keep the age-old traditions in their pure form in order to "maintain their national heritage". The man probably would have been all right if he'd kept to that theme. However, at the end, he used that point to launch into a litany of all of the traditions Kefira had violated and why that made her unfit to be the wife of Bangalore's Sultan. To Hadji's credit, he didn't order the man dragged off in chains, but there was little question that by the time Gupta was finished, his Sultan was furious. In a cold, rigidly controlled voice, he told the man that he appreciated his willingness to express his views, but that since the Sultancy was being disbanded, his point was moot. Gupta stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, until the palace guards stepped forward and removed him. Later that day, Jessie heard that his rank had been stripped, not by Hadji, but by the senior commander of the Sipahi, and that he had been given the choice to either leave the service or be reassigned as a mere foot soldier. When Gupta chose to take the reassignment, the senior commander had placed him at a border guard station in the high mountains of Panjal Province. Jessie doubted he'd end up causing a problem up there.

The next morning, she had approached Hadji and Kefira and told them it was time for her to go home. She could tell that neither of them wanted her to leave, but that both had expected it. She had returned through Portland, wanting to see her new baby sister. As luck would have it, she ran into her parents at the hospital. Her mother had hugged her and then alternated between laughing, crying, and shaking her, all the while telling her that if she ever did anything like this again, she would permanently disown her. Jessie openly grinned at that memory, causing the man passing her on the street to look at her very strangely. _Like that would ever happen,_ she thought happily.

Her smile disappeared and she bit her lip as she remembered her reunion with her father, however. He had hugged her tightly and for a long time, he wouldn't release her. When he finally loosened his grip, it was only enough to lean back so that he could look at her. He had searched her face for a long time and then, in the quietest voice she had ever heard from him, he asked, _"How are you, Ponchita?"_ It had just about been her undoing. Through all of the fear, anger, pain, torment, misery, anguish, and horror, she had held firm, doing what she had to do to ensure Kefira's safety and the long-term welfare of the people of Bangalore. In the peace and quiet of her room in the palace while she awaited Hadji's return, she thought she had finally come to terms with the things she had seen and done. But at her father's simple question and the knowing look in his eyes, it had all slammed into her again like a freight train. She'd gasped, tears filling her eyes, and had begun to shake. Race had pulled her into a tight embrace once again, pressing her face into his shoulder and stroking her hair as he whispered over and over, _"It's all right, baby. I promise . . . it will be all right."_ She'd fought against the breakdown and eventually she'd managed to get herself back under control again. She'd stepped away from him, wiping her face with her arm and conjuring up some semblance of a smile. She'd insisted that she was all right, and although she could tell he didn't believe her, he finally let the subject drop.

They'd visited the neonatal intensive care unit where she'd stood in awe and watched the tiny child that carried the same blood as she did. Emily had been asleep when they first arrived, but while they were there she had woken up, and Jessie was astonished that such a small little person could make so much noise. Both Race and Estella were allowed to hold her briefly and Jessie got the feeling that Emily recognized them. She would have loved to have held her, too, but the medical staff were still being very cautious and suggested that maybe next time she visited it might be possible. Jessie understood, but still regretted not being able to bond more fully with her new sibling.

As they left the hospital, Race tried to convince her to return to Quest Compound with them. He even offered to fly her to Boston the next morning. But Jessie adamantly refused, saying that she had been away too long and that she wanted to go home to Jon. In the same quiet tone he had used earlier, Race told her that Benton was seriously distressed about what had happened and wanted to talk with her about it. She met his eyes steadily and refused again. What he saw in her gaze, she wasn't entirely certain, but a look of infinite sadness darkened his eyes.

_"It wasn't his fault, Ponchita. You have to know that by now."_

_"I know,"_ she replied, but even to herself, the response sounded unconvinced. He stared at her for a long time and then sighed in defeat.

_"Don't hate him, Jessica. He doesn't deserve it."_ When she didn't reply, he shook his head sadly. _"Talk to Jonny,"_ he told her finally. _"Let his feelings on the matter be your guide. All right?"_

_"I'll talk to him,"_ she agreed and with final hugs and kisses all around, she'd left Maine and headed for home.

She'd gotten into Boston around two in the afternoon and rather than going straight home, she swung by Blackman Communications. It was almost as if she was expected because the instant she gave the security guard in the lobby her name, he cleared her through and sent her on her way. She entered the I.S. department and the first person she spotted was Blake. A grin of unholy glee split his face at the sight of her, and he immediately yelled for Jonny, telling him he had a visitor. The minute he appeared at the far end of the room, she seemed to turn into a particularly dull plant, going mute and becoming rooted to the spot. He froze, seemingly as immobile as she, and they stared at each other down the length of the long room. From far away, she had heard someone snicker . . . probably Blake . . . and then Jonny dropped everything in his hands and crossed to her at a run. He caught her in his arms and kissed her like there was no tomorrow, regardless of the audience. She knew she melted into him like warm butter. Everything from then on was a kalidescope of blurred sounds and images, all overlaid by the sound of his voice in her ear, the feel of his body against hers, and the final, deep conviction that she was, indeed, home. She'd managed not to cry . . . she remembered that much. She also remembered Stan telling Jonny he was done for the day and to take her home. Oh yeah, and she also remembered the wolf whistles and cat calls . . . not that either one of them had really cared.

And now, slowly but surely, things were beginning to return to normal. With the help of Dr. Sikes and Mr. Blackman, she managed to get back into the good graces of the university administration and most of her professors following her precipitous and unexplained disappearance. She was drastically behind in all of her classes, but was determined to catch up and complete the term on time. All of her energy was devoted to that task, but it worked out because Jonny was back to spending 16 to 18 hours a day at the office. A smile flitted across her face, thinking of the feeling of contentment that had exuded from him ever since she returned from Bangalore. He might be working until he was ready to drop, but he was happy doing it and that was all that mattered.

She had one final task left to complete and then the Bangalore incident would truly be history. Looking both ways, she crossed the street at mid-block and entered the bank. Speaking pleasantly to the teller, she presented the woman with a key to a safety deposit box and then followed her into the deposit box vault. Once the woman had pulled the box, set it on a table, and left again, Jessie shrugged out of her backpack and flipped open the box. It was filled with an assortment of papers, documents, and other odds and ends. They were grouped into packets, and each set was carefully sealed in plastic pouches. Opening her backpack, she pulled out a cloth bag and dumped the contents out onto the table. Checking each item carefully, she dropped the credit cards, driver's license, passport, and other forms of identification back into the waiting plastic pouch. She checked her wallet, purse, and backpack to make certain she had everything and then carefully sealed Monica Leveck away once more. As she dropped the pouch back into the safety deposit box, she found herself fervently hoping that there would never again be a need for the woman to reappear.

Jessie started to close the safety deposit box again, but then paused. Slowly, she turned to her backpack and rummaged inside it once more. Finding what she wanted, she drew the item out and stared at it thoughtfully. A garbage can stood nearby and for a moment she contemplated throwing it in there and just being done with it. Finally, almost against her own will, she threw the answering machine tape into the safety deposit box, closed it firmly, and slid the box back into it's proper place in the vault.

_Time will tell,_ she thought to herself, and then she closed and locked the box door and walked away. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"So is he down?"

"Yes," Race replied as he sank into the chair with a sigh. "You know, I don't know which is worse - Vassey clinging to me so desperately that he wouldn't go to bed if he had to be in another room, or Vassey refusing to go to bed simply because five-year-olds don't want to go to bed at a reasonable hour. But whichever one it is, I'm going to be really grateful when he grows out of it!"

Benton chuckled and then looked pointedly at Maia who lay sprawled on the floor near his feet reading a book. "And speaking of bed, don't you think it's time you were also there, young lady?"

She looked up at him with a pleading expression. "Do I have to? I wished to finish this tonight."

Benton leaned forward, checking the remaining pages and then shook his head. "I don't think so. It's a school night, and you still have too far to go. You're at the end of a chapter, which is a good stopping place. Go on and get ready for bed. I'll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in."

Maia gave a martyred sigh, but rose obediently and left the room.

"I don't ever remember it being that easy with Jonny," Race said with a grin, once they heard her footsteps in the upstairs hall.

"It never was. I'm just glad they both seem to have settled in so well."

"So am I. I think Hadji's decision to let them stay here rather than taking them back to Bangalore with him was a good one. Putting them back into that environment wouldn't have been a wise idea. And they really aren't any trouble."

"No, they aren't," Benton agreed. "Mrs. Evans even commented to me today that she might start taking a bit of time off because Maia's so diligent about picking up and cleaning that she's running out of things to do!"

Race laughed. "Give her time to get more involved in school and I bet that'll stop."

"So do I. And once little Emily gets here, she'll have other things to keep her occupied. She told me this evening that she can hardly wait. And speaking of that, what did Dr. Eftekari have to say today?"

"The first of the month," Race said happily and then jumped up to stir the fire and add another log to the grate. "The doctors say her lungs are almost fully formed now and there's no sign of congestion at all. She's also nursing willingly and barring any unforeseen complications, they'll let us bring her home the week after next."

"That's wonderful!" Benton said with a big grin. "It will be so good to finally have her home where she belongs." 

Race's smile disappeared as he sat back down in the chair and looked at Benton seriously. "Are you sure you don't mind, Benton? It's an awful lot to ask of you, bringing a baby into the house again after we'd no more than gotten the first batch grown and out the door."

Benton laughed. "Of course I don't mind! I'm looking forward to it. With the boys gone, this place has seemed a bit like a tomb. It will be good to have it filled with children again."

"I'm not entirely sure Emily will exactly 'fill' it," Race replied dryly.

"You weren't around much when Jessie was a baby, were you?"

"Well, no . . ."

"Trust me, she'll fill it. I promise you."

Estella entered in the midst of their companionable laughter. "What's so funny?" she asked, taking a seat at the computer station near the door. "IRIS, load my artifact index, please."

"ACKNOWLEDGED. LOADING."

"We were talking about bringing Emily home," Benton replied. He grinned again. "And the soon-to-ensue chaos."

Estella looked a little worried. "You know, Benton, it's a lot to ask of you -"

"Would the two of you stop it? You're getting as bad as Jonny. 'Sorry' seems to be the most common word out of his mouth these days. This is ridiculous. If anyone should be apologizing, it ought to be me. I'm the one who made a total ass of himself."

"No you didn't," Estella protested. She backpedaled a bit under his amused stare. "Well okay, so maybe you were a bit difficult at times, but you had a good excuse." Benton just snorted.

"Do you remember any of it?" Race asked him.

The older man shrugged. "Some of it. It's coming back slowly, mainly in fits and starts. It seems to require a trigger, but it's tripped, the memories just sort of sweep over me. It's a little bit like being caught in a motion picture theater with the film running at triple time. It will flash across my mind's eye, and when I try to figure out what just happened, the memories will just be there . . . as if they always were and I simply hadn't thought about them recently."

"It sounds confusing," Estella said sympathetically.

"No, not so much confusing as it is disconcerting. Everything is crystal clear right up to the time Darcy's people put the chip on me. From there, everything is fragmented . . . there are big holes in my existence. And do you have any idea how hard it is to place a past event in context when you don't have the memories of the events leading up to or after it?" Benton shook his head. "It feels like someone put all of my memories onto a deck of playing cards, shuffled them and tossed them onto a table in random order. Some are face up and I can see them, but the ones that are face down are still non-existent to me. And every so often, some unseen player turns a new card face up and there it is. I suspect it's going to take me a while to sort it all out again."

"But Barbara thinks all of the memories will come back in time?" Race asked.

"She thinks it's likely. I've already got some things back that occurred when I was under the direct influence of the chip or its after effects. If those memories have come back, she sees no reason why the others won't return in time."

"Are all of the memories you've gotten back from that time period?"

"No. Some of them are quite recent. For example, I remember that last conversation with Jonny and Jessie." The silence that followed that statement was pained. After a moment, Benton shrugged. "To be fair, I probably triggered it myself since I pushed so hard to find out why Jonny reacted defensively to certain things I said."

"Have you talked to her yet?" Estella asked tentatively.

Benton shook his head. "No. She's still avoiding me."

"I'll talk to her again, Benton. There's no reason -"

"No, Race, leave her alone. She needs time, and I'm willing to give it to her. I owe her a great deal for the way she reacted to the entire situation. All of you have told me that she fought as hard as anyone to keep the situation between Jonny and I from becoming irreparable. But when the break came, she aligned herself with my son and defended him like a wildcat, and for that, I'll be eternally grateful." Benton sighed and laid his head back against the chair. "'The dumb one.' My God, how is it that I never realized he was developing that perception of himself? The signs were there, if I'd just paid closer attention." He rubbed his eyes and then smiled painfully. "Maybe something good has come out of this after all. I've talked to several people who know Garrett Blackman and they all say that he's the perfect man to mentor someone like Jonny. He'll probably be able to get my son to do things that I don't even dare bring up."

"I was certainly impressed with him," Estella agreed.

"And the way he went into Bangalore after the four of them?" Race added. "Paul says that Garrett came to him with the idea of going in as a weapon's dealer, and that if Paul hadn't agreed to help, Garrett was going to go in anyway."

"I take it Paul was the one who brought Jade in?" Estella asked.

"No, Jade was already in Delhi. She made it back after dropping Jessie and Kefira, but just barely. She ended up setting the plane down about 25 miles outside of the city, totally out of fuel. She got wind of Paul's return to India . . . God knows how . . . tracked him down, and dealt herself in on the play. I'm still in shock over that one."

"Jade's always had a soft spot for our kids," Benton commented.

"The soft spot of a woman who hoped to be a step-mother?" Estella murmured softly to herself, but the two men heard her.

"What?" Benton exclaimed, staring at her in astonishment while Race sighed.

"Stel, I've told you . . . that was one of Jade's little fabrications . . . a way to diffuse Jessie's antagonism the first time they met. There was no truth to it."

"So you've said," Estella replied, but privately, she added to herself, _It may not have been real for you, my love, but I think it was pretty real for Jade._

The three of them sat quietly for a while, tied up in their own thoughts and activities. Finally, Benton ventured hesitantly, "Have you talked to Barbara recently, Estella?"

"Hmmm?" she replied vaguely. "What?"

"Barbara. Have you talked to her recently?"

Refocusing her attention on Benton, she said, "Well, I ran into her the day before yesterday. Why?"

"I was just wondering." He shrugged and shifted uncomfortably.

She tilted her head and eyed him curiously. "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"I don't know. I just get the impression that she's avoiding me. Did I do something stupid with her, too?"

"Not that I know of. What makes you think she's avoiding you?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "It just seems like she's uncomfortable around me for some reason. And I called her yesterday to find out if she'd like to go to dinner. I got her machine and left a message but she's never called me back. I'd hate to think I'd done something that has undermined our friendship."

Estella shot a veiled look at her husband, who responded with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "Well, I don't know about being uncomfortable around you," Estella replied smoothly, "but I can tell you why she hasn't called back about dinner. She's out of town."

"I hadn't heard that," Race said in surprise. "Where'd she go?"

"AMA convention. I was driving by her house on the way back from the grocery store and saw her loading luggage into her car, so I stopped. She was complaining that she really hated these formal medical conventions, but that she no choice but to attend this one. Her license is up for renewal and she needs the continuing education credit. I don't think she's due to be back until the middle of next week."

"Oh, that explains it then," Benton replied, sounding relieved.

"Personally, I think it's a good thing she had to go," Race commented. "She and Hadji worked day and night those last two weeks, and she was about ready to drop by the time it was over. And you know the kind of office hours she keeps. The only way she's going to get any rest is if she gets away from here."

"You're right about that," Estella agreed.

"Do you know where she went?" Benton asked.

"I have no idea. She didn't say. But I bet that wherever she is, she's having a good time." 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


Barbara stopped and stared at the sign. "Whale Overlook" it declared firmly and pointed to a dirt trail that wandered off across the headland to the south. A sudden gust of wind buffeted her, and she staggered slightly at the force of it. As the wind whipped her hair around her face and the brilliant sunshine caused her to squint against its diamond glint on the water, she turned to contemplate the nearby structure. With its crowning light, whitewashed walls, and picket fence, the lighthouse reminded her sharply of home and the reason she was so far from there. Another gust of wind slammed into her, and briefly she considered joining the others in the lee of the building. But then she changed her mind, preferring her own company to that of her companions. Turning her back on Old Point Loma Lighthouse, she followed a narrow path lined with buckwheat, sage and yucca until she reached another marked trail. About 15 feet from where she came out onto the trail was another sign. This one was emblazoned with the legend "Bayside Trail". Without thought, she turned onto it and headed away from the lighthouse. As she trudged along, she gazed at the glorious panorama of San Diego Bay, Coronado Island, and the Pacific Ocean. Below this high headland, boats plied the waters, the city spread out invitingly along the shore, and in the distance, the Cuyamaca Mountains framed the entire area. But the beauty of the scenery was lost on her. Instead, she was looking inward, knowing that it was time to face head-on the subject that had plagued her relentlessly for the last two weeks.

When Benton Quest had opened his eyes and spoken to his son, her first reaction was to cry. That impulse was followed quickly by tunnel vision, a flush of heat, and the certainty that she was going to faint. Somehow, she'd managed to stave off the encroaching darkness and gotten herself in hand. Luckily, everyone's attention was focused on Benton and no one noticed her total lapse of professionalism. When she stepped back in to take charge of his care once more, she was under control and acted like her usual self. She thought she had managed to pull it off, but as she found out later, Estella Velasquez-Bannon was no fool.

Over his protests, they carried Benton back to his room on the stretcher and made him rest while she did a thorough physical. When she'd been unable to find anything remotely wrong with him, he insisted on getting up again, and she was left with no choice but to let him. They managed to limit him to sitting in a chair in the family room for a couple of hours while they explained everything that had transpired, but eventually he grew restless again. At that point, Jonny suggested that they go back out to the lab and have IRIS run a scan to see if there was any sign of Smallwood's brainwave alteration, so they all trudged back out to the lighthouse, with Benton leading the way.

It was while the men were all concentrating on that activity, that Estella drew her to one side and gave her a long, hard inspection. "What are you going to do?" she finally demanded in a low voice.

"Do?" Barbara asked, confused.

"About the way you feel about him. Are you finally going to wise up and tell him?"

"Now, Estella, you know we're just -"

"There's no point in lying about it," she said sternly. "You love him and you need to tell him so."

"Now? I - I c-c-can't," she stuttered, startled into an oblique omission she probably wouldn't have made under other circumstances. 

"Of course you can! He has the right to know."

"Estella, he doesn't even remember what happened to him during the last six months! He doesn't need to be hit with something like that, too. Just leave it, okay?"

She shook her head unhappily, but relented. "All right. But you need to think about it before it becomes any more obvious than it is now."

"Obvious? What do mean, obvious? Are you telling me that he knows?"

"Oh, Benton has no idea. Jonny has always claimed that when it comes to women, his father is totally clueless, and he's absolutely right. The rest of us already knew."

"How did Jonny and Hadji find out, anyway? They aren't even around that much!"

Estella grinned at her. "Those two are head-over-heels themselves. They recognize the vibes." Then her smile dimmed. "Barbara, the two of you are a good match, and I really believes that Benton needs you. Don't let fear cost you something you want so much."

On top of everything else, that was just more than Barbara could deal with. As soon as they confirmed that there was no sign of Smallwood's tampering, she had given Benton a stern lecture about taking it easy and going slowly and then she had fled.

For the next several days, it was all she could do to get up in the morning and drag herself into the office. Somehow, she managed to function throughout the day, but she went home at night to collapse onto her bed in exhaustion. Several times, she'd immediately fallen asleep and hadn't woken up again until her alarm went off the next morning. By the end of that week, even Kathy, her office nurse, was showing signs of concern, saying that Barbara appeared to be losing weight. It had been that comment that finally shook her into taking a good, hard look at herself. And what she saw terrified her.

Estella had been right. She loved him. Any possibility of lying to herself about her feelings for him had ended that lonely, dark night in his room as she was finally forced to accept that he was going to die. When Jonny managed to find a way to save him after all, she was left adrift. The feelings that had finally overwhelmed her were intense and almost uncontrollable and yet, the idea of admitting them to him when she had no idea if he felt the same was just more than she could do. So she had done her best to avoid him, praying that her emotional upheaval would stabilize. But he kept seeking her out, first for her medical opinion on his memory loss, then to thank her for her care of him and his family, and finally just as a friend and someone he could talk to. Every time she was beginning to feel like her world was steadying, he would appear again and her small corner of peace would shatter once more.

It wasn't his fault. She knew it. It was her. Finally, she decided that she had to get away . . . give herself some space . . . so that she could rebuild the walls around her heart and take the time to decide what she was going to do. So she called the temp service again, got the visiting physicians back, and fled to the medical convention in San Diego.

_And here you are,_ she told herself as she plodded along against the wind. _You've been here for four days, and during that time you've studiously avoided thinking about Benton Quest. How much longer are you going to keep this up? Or do you plan to just pull up roots and run from this for the rest of your life?_ She honestly didn't know what to do . . . all she did know for certain was that she couldn't go home until she figured it out. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


"There is still some disagreement on the subdivision of the provinces into voting districts, but the various factions are much closer to an agreement than they were at the first of the week. I hope that by Saturday, we will have a workable compromise."

Hadji nodded in satisfaction as he skillfully dodged another pothole, bringing the big black sedan back onto the road surface from the shoulder without apparent effort. "You are an outstanding negotiator, Mr. Patel. I knew you could find a middle ground that would satisfy all parties."

Vijay grimaced. "Yes, well, it has not been easy."

Hadji laughed. "It never is," he agreed.

Vijay glanced at the young man beside him and then said tentatively, "I do wish you would reconsider, Excellency. The people all wish for you to run for the presidency, and your election would serve to solidify the new government."

"Yes, Excellency," Mahavir added, leaning forward from the back seat. "There are still those who are uncomfortable with the idea of the Sultancy being disbanded. Were you to serve as president for the first term, it would give people the chance to adjust to the idea and become more comfortable with the process."

Hadji grinned. "I said you are an outstanding negotiator, Mr. Patel, however you are not that good. We have discussed this before. Neither my wife nor I will run for the presidency. It is important that the new president and the members of the governing bodies be elected on the basis of those best suited for their roles. This would not happen if either Kefira or I were to step in and try to run. You know as well as I do that we would win anything we ran for, regardless of our qualifications, and that is not how the process is supposed to work. No, the best thing for us to do is exactly what we are doing . . . help to set up the system, aid in the initial transition, and then bow out gracefully and allow the people of this country to govern themselves."

"And you are still determined to leave Bangalore permanently?"

Hadji nodded. "Yes. My mother was right. We do not belong here. Too many years had passed between the time Pasha took me from the palace and the time I re-discovered my birthright. I changed, Mr. Patel, in ways even I could not understand. A wise man does not deny who he is just as a tiger does not try to eat soup."

Vijay did a double-take. "What?"

That caused Hadji to laugh again. "You looked just like my brother. Think about it, Mr. Patel. Given some time, I am sure it will make sense to you." Flipping down the visor, he glanced in the mirror at the fourth occupant of the vehicle. "You are very quiet, beloved. Is something concerning you?" Kefira didn't respond, continuing to stare out the window blindly while she chewed absently on her thumb.

Tentatively, Mahavir reached out and touched her arm lightly. "Excellency?"

She started violently. "What?" Her eyes met Hadji's concerned gaze in the mirror.

"I asked if you are all right. You are extremely quiet."

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "No, I am fine. I was just watching the scenery."

"Would you like to stop for a moment and look around? We have the time."

"No, that is -" She stopped, turning to look out the window again. "On second thought, yes, I believe I would." Her eyes met his in the mirror once more. "We are not far from our destination now. Would you mind if we were to ask Mr. Patel and his nephew to go on from here and we could walk? It should not take more than fifteen minutes to get there from here."

"Of course. That idea appeals to me, as well."

Over Vijay and Mahavir's protests, Hadji pulled over to one side of the road and got out of the car. Opening the back door, he offered his hand to his wife and she quickly joined him. For an instant, as they stood facing each other in the morning sunshine, time seemed to stand still and for the first time since the conflict began, they both experienced a brief moment of contentment. Then Hadji smiled and turned back to the two men, who had scrambled out of the car after the couple.

"Mr. Patel, you go on ahead with the car. We will join you shortly."

"But . . . but Sire! You are expected and should not be late." Then, gesturing at the their formal attire, he added, "Furthermore, you are not dressed to be walking this countryside."

"It will not be the first time," Hadji assured him.

Vijay tried again. "Excellency, this is wild country. It is not wise for you to be wandering around alone!"

Hadji smiled with good-natured patience. "Mr. Patel, this is my wife's land. She knows it better than anyone. I believe we will be safe enough. There is no need for you to worry."

"At the very least, Excellency, you must take this!" Mahavir exclaimed, holding out a pistol.

Hadji stepped back, a frown forming on his face. "Why do you have that?" he demanded. "There is no need for guns any longer!"

Before either Vijay or Mahavir could answer, Kefira stepped forward and laid a hand on Mahavir's arm. "It is all right." She smiled slightly. "I am my father's daughter, after all. We will be fine. Please, go on and we will join you soon." Turning, she gestured to Hadji. "We will go this way, beloved." Hadji waved cheerfully to the Patels and then the two young people disappeared into the rugged countryside.

Vijay sat, staring at the empty land for a long minute and then sighed. "How is it that we ended up with the job of trying to protect those two, nephew? What god did we offend?"

Mahavir chuckled. "It must be karma, uncle. And as the Sultan's brother is fond of saying, we are earning a mountain of points for our next life." He gestured to the car. "Do you wish to drive, or shall I?"

Not far away, but out of sight of the two men, Hadji and Kefira stood listening until the sound of the car faded into the distance. Then with a relieved sigh, Hadji turned and smiled at his wife. "Alone at last," he joked.

She smiled at him tolerantly and then gestured to her right. "We will go this way." For a time, the two moved in silence, angling across an uphill slope. It was wild, empty country filled with intermittent scrub, rocks, and the remnants of annual plants that were now shriveled and browned from the first freezes in the high mountain valleys. The light breeze that blew down off of the surrounding peaks was chill, carrying the taste snow, but the sun was still warm and neither of them was uncomfortable.

"It is very beautiful here," Hadji said to her after a time. 

Her expression was sad as she paused, looking around. "My father loved this land. He was born here and knew every rock, plant, and creature in it. All of us used to walk its valleys with him, listening to his stories of the history of our family and the legends that are part of our heritage. She bowed her head and said painfully, "It is not right that he should be dead . . . for no better reason than another man's greed."

"No, it is not right." He reached out and gently cupped her cheek, turning her head so she had to look at him. "Answer me honestly, Kefira. Would you prefer to live here rather than returning to the United States?"

Kefira scanned the countryside again, allowing the memories of her earlier life to fully surface for the first time since learning of the murder of her parents. Like a rising tide, they engulfed her, their images in her mind as crystal clear as if they had happened earlier that day. The grief, held back out of necessity through days of fear, frustration, fighting, and the first stages of healing, finally couldn't be suppressed any longer. She buried her face in her hands and began to cry in deep, wracking sobs. Hadji gathered her into his arms, pressing her face into his chest, and allowed the grief to rage just as his father had held him and allowed his grief over his mother's death to spend itself.

Finally, when the storm had passed, Hadji caught her chin and tilted her head back to he could meet her eyes. "We will stay here, if that is what you wish. There are ways that I can continue to work with my father from here. We can rebuild your home and you can run your family's mines . . ."

Gently, she withdrew from his embrace and turned to look around her once more. The land hadn't changed. It was still filled with the wild beauty she had always known. But as she turned slowly, allowing her gaze to sweep the panorama, she realized that for all that she loved this place, it was no longer enough. Just as Benton Quest had done for Hadji so many years before, Hadji had now shown her a bigger world . . . a world where she could learn and grow and make a difference. Her roots were here, as they always would be, but it was not where she belonged any more.

There was an aura of acceptance and peace about her as she turned back to him. "No," she said with quiet conviction, "this is not our place any longer. It is more fitting that the site of my parents' home becomes a national monument dedicated to the memory of their fight for the rights of our people, and that the lands once held by my family be turned over to the people who have worked them for generations." She gazed up into his eyes, her love for him a living thing he could both see and feel. "We will do what must be done here in the coming months. And when we are finished . . . then, husband, we will do as our hearts and tradition dictate . . . we will return to the home of our father and build our own life there."

He gazed down at her for a long moment, too choked up to respond. Finally, he reached out and caressed her cheek lovingly. "I love you very much, Kefira Singh," he whispered.

"And I, you, husband."

He leaned down and kissed her deeply, and then in silent accord, they turned and walked hand-in-hand into the countryside. 

  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  


It was 7:30 p.m. on the evening before Halloween when Jonny ran his company I.D. card through the swipe reader on the employee access door, entered the Garrett J. Blackman Corporate Plaza, and crossed the huge marble reception area to greet the middle-aged man at the main reception desk. "Evening, Marco," he said, as he reached for the pen to sign in. The man grinned back at him.

"Back to old times again, Jon . . . you here at all hours. For a while, I'd wondered if you'd left us."

Jonny's answering smile held a shade of sadness. "For a while, I wondered if I had." At the man's slightly bewildered look, he shook his head. "Some days I don't quite know if I'm coming or going."

"With the hours you keep? I don't doubt it. Go on, I'll unlock the elevator for you. Those hooligans of yours are already here and waiting."

"Thanks, Marco. You have a good night," he said with a wave and walked toward the elevator. When it arrived, he stepped onto it and pushed the button for the 27th floor. As it rose smoothly, Jonny thought about what Marco had said. In some indefinable way, he _**had**_ almost lost himself . . . in more ways than one. Certainly, during the last month, he'd come incredibly close to getting himself killed. Not that that was such an unusual situation really, but still . . .

He'd probably come even closer to losing Jess . . . a thought that didn't even bear consideration. She was still refusing to talk about what happened to her and Kefira while they were all in Bangalore, but Jonny knew it was haunting her. Not a night went by that he didn't wake to find her tossing and turning, locked into a nightmare she couldn't seem to put to rest. Some nights she quieted without ever waking, while others she woke screaming. On those nights, she would rise from their bed and not return. When he went looking for her, he would usually find her huddled in some darkened corner of their apartment, her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her forehead resting on her knees, as though she was trying to hide from her dreams. He had tried to make her talk to him, but she rarely said a word. All he could do was to coax her out of her tight little ball, pick her up, carry her back to their bed, and hold her close until the ghosts seemed to pass and she fell asleep once more. At least this morning she had finally admitted she needed help and as he left the house, he heard her talking to her dad. That knowledge gave Jonny a little bit of peace. Race would know what to do to help her.

He'd almost lost Hadji, too, and not only to his enemies in Bangalore. The memory of the fury and disgust on his brother's face when he supported Race's decision to enforce the terms of his father's will was indelibly imprinted on his memory. Jonny wasn't sure if the damage would ever have been fixable if their father had died in that fashion. And the thought of losing his brother terrified him almost as much as the idea of losing Jess. 

And then there was his father. Jonny leaned against the elevator wall, thinking about his dad. He had talked to him every day since leaving the Compound a little over two weeks ago. Sometimes it was just a quick phone call to check in and to be sure he was doing okay. Other times, they talked for an hour or more. And during those conversations, Jonny had found that the man he had known and loved all of his life was back. Things weren't the same between them, certainly, and they probably never would be, but when he made that comment to his father a few days before, Benton had simply chuckled and told him that it was all part of growing up. Jonny supposed that was true, but that knowledge didn't prevent him from wishing that the events of the last seven months had never happened.

Jonny still found himself getting defensive sometimes. Certain subjects were almost guaranteed to bring it out in him. His father learned what those were very quickly, and for a while he steered clear of them. But in the last day or two, he'd begun to return to them again. He was very careful not to be critical or sound judgmental when he brought them up, but he did insist on talking about them. Jonny wasn't entirely sure he knew what his father was trying to accomplish, but he was finally to the point where he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He supposed that was a step in the right direction.

The benefit of the doubt . . . that was more than Jess was willing to grant him right now. Jonny frowned, thinking about the relationship between his father and girlfriend. Jessie was avoiding his dad like a plague and she still had a lot of anger and resentment simmering very near the surface. He could feel it. He'd tried to talk to her about it, but all she did was encourage him to continue trying to rebuild his relationship with his father and then found an excuse to end the conversation. Jonny wished he knew what had happened to alienate her so totally. Hadji had said that his last fight with his father had angered her, but then she generally was angry after the two of them fought, so there was nothing terribly unusual in that. He simply couldn't figure out what had been different this time. But whatever it was, it had triggered a confrontation between them. He asked both of them what happened, but neither offered much. His father's reply was that Jessie had a right to be angry and that he should leave it alone. And all Jessie would say was, "Time will tell."

Jonny sighed in frustration as the elevator came to a stop. _Life never seems to get any easier,_ he thought to himself as he stepped out and turned toward the big glass doors that led into the main office. But as he pushed them open and headed for his cubicle, he grinned reluctantly. Maybe things didn't get any easier as you got older, but he wouldn't trade his life for anything. _This too shall pass,_ he thought philosophically as he tossed his jacket into the chair and then headed for the back of the office complex. As he rounded the corner, he saw four expectant faces look up, relief lightening their expressions. Contentment filled him as he grinned back at them.

"Okay, you outlaws, what have you done to it now?"

  


**THE END**  
(for now)

  


(c) 2001-2002 Debbie Kluge

DISCLAIMER: The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest and all characters, logos, and likenesses therein, are trademarks of and copyrighted by Hanna-Barbera Productions, Inc., and Hanna-Barbera Cartoons, Inc., a Turner company. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story. All other material, copyright 2001 by Deborah A. Kluge. All rights reserved. Characters and stories are in no way affiliated with, approved of or endorsed by Hanna Barbera or Turner Productions. This is created by a fan for other fans out of love and respect for the show, and is strictly a non-profit endeavor.


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